Spidermen & Annabeth Don't Mix
by Jamie Edge
Summary: When Annabeth began her school year at Midtown Science High School, she was expected monsters and humans alike. But she discovered something that is a bit of both, a monster she has never seen the likes of. And Spiderman has never seen a villain quite like Annabeth before. (ALSO AVAILABLE ON WATTPAD)
1. Stare Down

**THIS STORY CAN ALSO BE FOUND ON WATTPAD, UNDER THE SAME USERNAME AND TITLE**

 **Link to Wattpad**

 **Please review, follow, blah blah blah...**

 **DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE AMAZING SPIDERMAN OR PERCY JACKSON**

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My shoulders were hunched, cradling my frigid face in a scarf. I couldn't remember being so cold in my life, my feet were hunks of unmelting ice in my boots and my body shivered despite being bulked up in a thick jacket.

As I shuffled to the edge of the pavement, I drew up the courage to allow my fingers to exit the warmth of my jacket pockets. I held out my frost bitten hand, trying to attract the attention of a cab to my suffering.

 _Why_ did New York have to be so cold on my first day at Midtown Science High School?

When one swerved up, I retreated back into a heap of clothing and bundled myself into the backseat of the taxi. "Where to, ma'am?" barked the driver, his voice sharper than Percy's charming New York accent.

"Midtown Science High School, please," I mumbled through the scarf that covered my face like a bank robber.

" _Waaa?_ Gotta speak up, sweetheart. Can't take ya no place till I know where ya wanna go," the driver noted the obvious with irritation, and I pulled the scarf away from my face with even more irritation.

" _I_ _would_ _like_ _to go to Midtown Science High School,_ " I stated bluntly, articulating every syllable before covering my face again.

Without another use of the name _sweetheart,_ the driver forced his way through the traffic. I ignored the constant noise of the city, and took off my backpack. I fumbled with the papers as dexterously as I could without removing the gloves.

I took out the folder that contained all the papers I needed to efficiently integrate myself into my new school. It was my first choice, education-wise. It had one of the top science marks in the state (which it had to be because it had _science_ in its name. Otherwise it would have been stupidly ironic. I would never go to a high school just because the name made me laugh for about 3 seconds.)

But I was also sad that I didn't get into Goode, to be with Percy. The school wasn't close enough and my stepmother refused to let me go through the hassle of a long commute to school.

At least I would still get to see him on the weekends and sometimes after school, when I was not busy with projects.

By the time I had checked and rechecked that I had everything, the driver opened his mouth to demand money.

I dutifully handed him the amount required - and no more. Never was I going to tip a strange baldy guy who had called me _'sweetheart'._ Or any guy who calls me that, for that matter. I would even beat up my own _boyfriend_ if he called me that.

I clambered out, inhaling sharply as the cold air hit me. _Goodbye air-conditioned, cigarette-smelling car_ , I thought. _My cold feet are going to miss you._

I hiked up the concrete stairs of the imposing school, my bag sliding off my shoulder. I was early, the hallways haunted by other early comers. I marched my way to reception, where I met a bubble gum chewing secretary. She had blood red nails and the over-top kind of make up that only works when you are on a stage.

She flicked through my file like she was reading a magazine. After thoroughly analysing them for juicy information, she made my schedule soar across the desk with disinterest. I caught it, disliking the school already.

Hopefully she was going to be the worst of the staff. I don't think I would be able to tolerate any worse.

I showed myself around, locating my locker and my classes. I didn't introduce myself to anyone and nor did anyone introduce themselves to me. I was ignored, but not in a mean way. Some part of me preferred it this way, preferred to blend in with the crowd. Unlike my last school, where I stood out for "being mysterious" because of my regular "vacations" I used to save the world. Of course, the mortals didn't know that, so everyone thought I was running away from my family and living with my boyfriend. _Why_ they were so interested, I didn't understand. Maybe their lives were so mundane compared to my supposed illicit behaviour that they had no choice but seek excitement from other people's troubles.

After staking out in the library until the bell rang, I entered homeroom. The class was colourful, with the words "MATH IS AWESOME" sticky-taped on the back wall.

The teacher gave me a big white smile and in an enthusiastic but sincere voice, said: "This is Annabeth Chase, overly hairy boys and pink nailed girls." (She gave a few teenagers a meaningful glare, warning them of the rules) "She will be joining us till the end of her high school career, so make sure to make it pleasant one! Tell the class a little about yourself, Annabeth."

I clutched my books to my chest and tried to tone down my confidence (I didn't want to stand out, remember?). I cleared my throat that was suddenly scratching. "I'm Annabeth Chase and I um... am from San Francisco. My family moved here because my dad got a job at the museum. And I... um... ma'am what else is I supposed to say?" I shifted nervously.

Miss Day - the name suited her sunny personality - asked me about my hobbies, if I miss home until she took pity on me and seated me in the front row.

I sat down, my hands in my lap as I observed the people around me. They approached me, half of the class swarming around me, trying to scent out a new addition to their separate little groupies.

By the end of homeroom, I had been assessed for popularity by a snobby group of girls, hit on by relaxed athletes but regretably remained unapproached by anyone I considered to be suitable company.

After that, I allowed myself to be swept up in the tide of hurrying teenagers and reached my first period: Biology.

I was once again pushed into the new kid ritual of summarising my life in front of all my unfamiliar peers. But this time it was done by a short male teacher who was fat in the stomach but not in the face.

I took the seat at the back so I would get the best vantage point in the class. A place no one would stare at me, but where I could see every move they made. I hoped I would get this lucky in my next period.

For some reason I was seriously on edge, a gnawing feeling at the pit of my stomach. My nerves felt like they were all relocating and panicking to find a hiding spot.

Something wasn't right and I didn't like it.

I scanned the classroom. The teacher had a dull, boring face but his classroom was trendy. Tumblr quotes covered an entire wall, indicating that he had a lot of downtime. Monsters who disguised themselves as teachers usually had empty classrooms, and were awful to demigods.

Concluding that the only thing I had to concern myself with in regard with Mr Sage was that I may be bored to death, I started to analyse the learners.

Monsters were less likely to disguise themselves as students because they had difficulty adapting to the contemporary ways of teenagers. Adults were easier to imitate.

I had moved my eyes along each learner systematically until I reached the boy nearest to the window.

His eyes were sunken in, making his zygomatic arches shine unhealthily compared to the dark shadows carved into his cheeks. His lips were thin, slashing a grim line curving downwards. _**("Zygolomatic arches" is just a nerdy term for cheekbones.)**_

He was scratching in his notes intently, hunched over his beaten up notebook. Then he looked up, eyes meeting mine.

There was a small staring match, both of us assessing each other (not in a sexy way). I was getting more and more agitated, trembling with pent up energy and nervousness.

He also seemed to pick up on my mood, muscles in his neck twitching and fingers tightly clenched around a pencil.

Sensing the power stuggle, I sat straighter, twirling my pen threateningly until I too held it like knife. I leaned back slowly, staying as calm as I could while looking cold and calculated. It was a look I had mastered when I was much too young - but then again it was never too young for a demigod to learn a life-saving skill. I uncrossed my legs, knowing that if this did break out into a fight then I would have to be ready to leap to my feet.

I watched him when I did this. He appeared nervous, almost scared. Considering my reputation of exceptional (well... most of the time) monster killing, every monster existing had a reason to fear me. I noted how he angled his body and how he held the writing utensil. He was trained and he was ready.

Monster. _Definitely_ a monster.

 _ **# # # # # # #**_

 _ **I hope you enjoyed that. If you feel like it can be improved on, please comment or PM me.**_

 _ **Should I continue with this story, or must I just keep on dreaming about agile insectmen and a blonde Gi Joes?**_

 _ **Jamie Edge**_


	2. Internet Stalking---I Mean Investigating

_**First off, sorry for the late update. There's no excuse except... procrastination. Really bad procrastination. As in, I wrote the chapter was too lazy to get it grammer checked by my Beta.**_

 _ **And I would just like to thank my new... Gamma! (Meaning that I have a Beta to help me with writing, so I just used the third letter in the Greek alphabet to call my PLOT GURU!) Anyway... her name is** Emrys Holmes **and she is amazing. We both have this tendency to ramble... we just talk and talk and talk, on and on and on... It's a curse that we both burden with heavy hearts.**_

 **CHAPTER 2: Internet Stalking... I Mean Investigating**

* * *

I was slumped in my seat, my ribs aching. I had broken them this morning, accidentally slamming into a bus while I was swinging. I was far too preoccupied with a boy running around with gun, chasing a poodle. It was just so absurd, a man armed with a machine gun trying to catch a yipping white puppy.

As I came down to take the gun off him, a bus came out of nowhere and knocked me right out of the air.

The poodle boy promptly started to attack the bus, poodle in tow.

 _ **(Guess who the Poodle Terrorist is)**_

Sometimes I wonder how strange I actually am, compared to New Yorkers in general.

But then again, I _am_ the one shooting wire out of my wrists and swinging from building to building.

I couldn't concentrate on Mr Sage's droning voice, vaguely noticing a new girl being introduced. Something like Banana Case. I couldn't remember, distracted by the feeling of the cells in my bones splitting and repairing themselves at a frantic speed, speeding up the healing process by weeks. It itched like crazy. Considering that I skipped breakfast, the healing process could take a day instead of a couple of hours.

Being bored and in pain, my eyes started to drift across the classroom. I quietly started to laugh as I scanned the rows of cheesy jokes about science that plastered the classroom walls.

Nearing the end of the period, I had read every single quote on the wall, my favourite being _"Don't trust an atom, they make up everything."_

I then moved on to quickly writing the notes on the board that I hadn't noticed being written. When I reached the third sentence, I felt a prickling sensation — someone was watching me.

My spider senses sent a surge of adrenalin to my brain, singeing my bored demeanour away like a wild fire.

I looked up.

And looking back at me a girl with curly blond hair sneaking out of a knitted beanie. On account that l had never seen her before, she must be the new girl, Banana Case.

Despite the bulky jacket, she looked athletic. Her brand new notebook seemed to be already filled with the notes. She was pretty in a natural way, healthy tanned skin and confident set of shoulders.

She looked like a normal girl at first glance. But when you looked closer, you would wish you hadn't. She was scary.

Her eyes were pale, pupils contrasting so starkly it made her look otherworldly. Any thoughts of her being a nice girl dissipated like mist, with shivers running down my spine under her piercing, cold stare.

I felt suddenly very jumpy, my pen flipping in my hands, point facing downwards. I inched myself to the edge of my seat, ready to jump into action.

She looked at me knowingly, like she knew about my double life and she was not at all impressed. On the contrary, quite the opposite.

Did she know of my secret life? What if she was an assassin? What was I going to do if she started a fight now, in the classroom, in front of my classmates?

I couldn't reveal any of my powers by defending myself, in case some people put 2 and 2 together and figured out:

1) it equalled 4

2) that I was secretly Spiderman.

She uncrossed her legs slowly, savouring the movement. She slowly brought out her own pen, leisurely spinning it in long, cunning fingers. A cat-like smile slinked across her face, revealing a dazzling smile. She looked downright evil. Her eyes remained guarded, along with her very subtle fighting stance. Her feet were planted firmly on the wooden floor and she was leaning forward, prepared to flip the desk out of her way. Her colourless eyes focused solely on me.

At this point, my arachnid warning system was blaring inside my head, pushing aside all thoughts away. I was filled to the brim with strategies to fight, leaving no space for calm. I felt claustrophobic, like my muscles were clamping down on my bones, urging me to get closer to the girl. To fight. To kill. To survive.

It took everything I had not to stand up and attack her. Agitation mixed with anger and I wanted to take her out NOW for being intruded upon — in my school, in my abnormal bubble of normalcy.

I gripped my pen, doing mental calming exercises. I wanted to close my eyes while taking deep breathes, but I feared the second I did this, I would make myself vulnerable.

 _1... 2... 3... 4... Should be calming... WHY AM I NOT CALMING?... 5... 6..._

I imagined the heavy metal of the ballpoint pen flicking from her deft fingers, slicing through the screaming air, and imbedding itself between my eyes. How it would be utterly silent after that, in contrast to the voices in my head screaming _'DEFEND YOURSELF!'_ and _'SCREW YOUR COVER, YOU WON'T HAVE A COVER IF YOU'RE DEAD!'._

In a split second of panic, my self-control slipped, and I found myself abruptly standing, with my chair scraping against the floor.

For a second I didn't know why I had done that. My instincts straightened my legs, my instincts _(or should I say_ insect-ints? _No, wait, I'm an arachnid...)_ rationalising my chance of survival if I was on my feet.

Mr Sage stopped his speech that no one was listening to anyway. Eyes fell upon me, searching for a distraction to revive them from their state of boredom.

"What is it, Parker? Another bathroom break?" Mr. Sage asked sarcastically.

"I need to go the bathroom," I stuttered, then realising in embarrassment that that's exactly what the teacher said.

I was feeling both uncomfortable under the scrutiny of my classmates and comforted by the number of witnesses would be here if Blonde-zilla decided to kill me.

I collected my bag and quickly fled from class, before Mr Sage noticed how going to the bathroom with the intention of coming back generally didn't involve taking your bag with you.

Once in the bathroom, I locked myself in the stall closest to the door — by far the cleanest stall according to scientific statistics and... experience.

I dug into my pocket, pulling out my phone. There was a lightning-like crack spearing down the middle of the cell phone, a reminder of an incident where I hadn't landed too gracefully during an excursion as Spiderman. My fingers slid over the imperfection as I checked my crime alert app on my phone. An app I designed myself, wired into the police radio system so I could be up-to-date with the crimes as they were happening. You know, when I wasn't close enough to get my spider senses all fired up.

I scanned the list: a cat stuck in a sewer, a petty theft from a fruit stand — most incidents that could be resolved by the police.

I continued to scroll down the list, trying to find an excuse not to be in the same building as that blonde killer. You don't know that, I reminded myself. She could just be a psychotic, sadistic teenager who's always on her period. And who habitually has a murderous gleam in her eyes. And knows how to stab people with a pen.

Just a normal, sweet teenage girl who doesn't know that you are Spiderman. She just wants to kill you regardless. Nothing to worry about.

I shook my head, trying to rid myself of my internal dialogue. They say talking to yourself is one of the first signs of madness. I wondered if talking to the voices in your head was any better.

It then occurred to check out her background. It was the reasonable, rationale thing to do. I quickly hacked into the school's system, easily remembering the very stupid password ( _School123_ — it was like a three year old sucked it out of their thumb.)

And I was in.

My finger halted for a moment, poised over the search button. Frustration bubbled up.

I didn't know her name.

I wasn't listening when she talked about herself in front of the class. I went on a limb and typed _"Banana Case"_ , which was the closest thing I could come to her name.

As expected, nothing came up.

I then got out my Biology class list, looking for an unfamiliar name. After selecting a couple of people whose names I didn't know but whose familiar faces popped up in their profile, I finally tapped the correct link.

Next to an absent school picture, the name Annabeth Chase shone out in bold text. I started to read:

 **Full Name:** Annabeth Theresa Chase

 **Gender:** Female

 **Date of Birth:** 12 July 1993

 **Age:** 18

 **Home language:** English

 **Second language:** Greek

 **Other languages:** Latin, Spanish

 **Father:** Frederick Chase

 **Mother:** unknown

 **Other Guardian:** Helen Chase (stepmother)

 **Siblings:** Robert and Matthew Chase (half-brothers)

 **Medical Impairments:** Primary Dyslexia

There were pages of things like this, detailing her parents' contact details and her marks since grade 7.

The most interesting thing here was her academic history. Her marks from her last school were good, but not as high as mine. Judging by the intelligence I glimpsed from her chilling eyes, I put it down to the fact she had dyslexia.

And she has been kicked out of 3 schools on the account of vandalism and damage to school property.

I then Googled her and found no profile links to social media. The only proof she existed was an article dated six years ago about the abduction of three kids by a terrorist. The picture that was included in the newspaper clipping displayed her when she was twelve. She was beaming to the camera, a bright smile dulled by exhaustion. Her arm was around another twelve year old whose hair was darkened even blacker by dirt that covered all three posed in the photo. The final person, the one on the right side of the black haired kid, was older on account of the shading of a pathetic ginger beard.

Annabeth Chase, Percy Jackson and Grover Underwood.

* * *

 _ **THE KID— A KIDNAPPER OR THE KIDNAPPED?**_

 ** _On the 11th of June, 2006, California Police Force said that they witnessed a twelve year old child having a gun fight with a man on Los Angeles Beach. They were tipped off by locals about the large amount of smoke and screaming coming from the area and immediately moved to neutralise the situation._**

 ** _When they got to the scene, the child — identified as twelve year old Perseus 'Percy' Jackson later on — was supposedly doing armed combat with an unknown man. The police threatened to shoot if they did not surrender, but the unknown man reportedly blew up police cruisers with grenades._**

 ** _Fifteen minutes later, the fight ended with Percy Jackson shooting the man in the foot. The man immediately fled the scene on a motorbike. Forces were unable to apprehend the criminal._**

 ** _Percy Jackson and his associates — Annabeth Chase and Grover Underwood — were found on the scene. Percy Jackson was previously accused for kidnapping his mother and stealing property by his step-father, Gabe Ugliano. The evidence of seemingly terrorism acts have already evident in Percy's history, such as blowing up a school bus in grade five and being kicked out of several schools. Gabe described him as a "trouble maker" and "having an evil look in his eye". For this reason, Gabe was convinced that Percy was the one responsible for Sally Jackson's disappearance and the theft of his car._**

 ** _However, Percy claims that he, his friends and his mother (Annabeth Chase, Grover Underwood and Sally Jackson) were kidnapped by a terrorist whom he was not able to name, the man with whom he had the gun fight with. The children were supposedly forced to bomb the Arch Monument as well as travel the country to suit his demands. If they failed to co-operate, the man threatened to cause bodily damage to Perseus' mother._**

 ** _Sally Jackson had recently been returned to her home by the assailant, seemingly unharmed. The children claimed that they did not understand why Mrs Jackson had returned unharmed; they didn't believe the man would actually let her go, preferring to keep his leverage over them._**

 ** _"It was a strange fight to watch," Officer Forbes comments. "The man was very tall, like a basketball player. It was just... so alien to see such a small, scrawny boy hold off his own against such a mountain of a man! I really commend this boy for only coming out with a few bruises. He had luck on his side, what with the freak waves that gave him a huge advantage."_**

 ** _The California Police Department are requesting that any one identifying a man that fitted the description below to report it immediately to the nearest police station. The man is over 6 foot tall, with dark hair, a leather jacket and rides a Harley Davidson. Do not approach as may be armed._**

 ** _Please report any findings to 0091._**

 **(A/N: I am so bad at formal articles... they are just so BORING. Comment to help me improve it, please.)**

* * *

I read the passage over and over, not quite understanding. For a newspaper article, it felt very vague. Like the writer didn't quite understand what he was writing about. And I found it surprising that such a juicy story — pre-teens suspected of kidnapping an adult but then revealed to be forcibly under the control of a supposed terrorist — to be so short. Surely the journalist would have drawn out the article, filling columns and columns of information? It didn't feel right.

Something started to tighten in my stomach, something that was far deeper than my spider sensing, telling me something bad was going to happen.

I searched further, frustration making fire burn in my chest.

After minutes of Google searching, I started doing a far deeper probe on them. I opened a self-programmed app that allowed me to do some serious, _"soul searching"_... (Hey, I don't voluntarily go about saying that I made an app so I could stalk people. Even though I did.)

After my _"soul searching"_ , I discovered that Percy was a bit more popular with social media; selfies with friends posted on Facebook. He was a skater, a natural trouble maker who had gotten kicked out of several schools. It was one thing to be expelled from one, but it was another thing to be expelled from different schools several times.

This kid had to be demonic.

The conversations on the internet gossiping about him certainly depicted him like that. As they did with Annabeth, including the description of "know it all" into her list of scandalous adjectives.

But neither had networking accounts otherwise.

The other guy was also a mystery, going in and out of high school at weird times. Dropping out, then skipping a year ahead and entering another school, then dropping out again.

All of them had weird school patterns. And I am absolutely confident that they continued to be connected to each other. Maybe the abductor had some kind of hold on them, forcing them to do illegal stuff for his gang. So maybe Annabeth was actually an assassin, ordered by her ex kidnapper-at-large to take out Spiderman.

She probably also had her team — Percy and Grover — helping her out with the whole operation.

I also stumbled upon another article on a Missing Child website. It had a picture of Annabeth boxed between an Asian looking woman and a skinny man in a tweed jacket. At their feet were two toddlers; one of them looking very interested with his toes while and the other showed off a small toy car. It was a happy picture, a budding family on a picnic trip.

But Annabeth was the only face that wasn't smiling. She was looking at the photographer with murderous eyes and she suddenly looked very similar to the 18 year old Annabeth.

I wondered if this was the most cheerful picture they had.

I shouldered my bag when the bell rang, hoping that I didn't have any other classes with any of the Abduction Kids (a really awesome name I decided to give them while I was bunking in the bathroom. If I ever put my awful singing voice to use, that is what I would call my band.)

Luckily I only had Biology with her, and neither of the other Abduction Kids appeared to be registered at my school. Percy was in Goode High School (and his below average marks made my eyes water). Grover wasn't at school at all, apparently touring the country, spreading eco-friendly awareness.

By the time school ended, I was worn at the edges, so paranoid that my hyper aware sense analysed every shift of the breeze.

* * *

 _ **This chapter was almost 3000 words! Wow, I'm so proud of myself. My chapters are usually a third of that.**_

 _ **Feel free to suggest some awkward situations for Annabeth and Peter to get stuck into! Seriously though. I need some material, people!**_

 _ **Jamie Edge**_


	3. Food Chain

_**Unlike most times, the reason I didn't update is not procrastination. The only reason I am updating is because I procrastinated. I was supposed to be studying for... I think it was English. Not that I ever study English.**_

 _ **So thank procrastination! Procrastination get stuff done!**_

 **CHAPTER 3: Food Chain**

* * *

Tapping fingers sounded like sinister footsteps. Clicking pens were the claws on tiles. Sighs smelled of rotten meat and ever the clatter of stationary was a dead body falling. Every shift was a monster revealing a weapon.

Needless to say, I was in a paranoid frenzy.

I stopped taking note of what Mr. Sage said. All I saw was the boy. I kept having to remind myself not call him "Peter" in fear of personalising him too much. It might not even be his name, if he had a name at all. All I needed to know was his origins and I needed some celestial bronze.

From what I recalled about our staring competition, he was right handed. He preferred to keep himself covered - not uncommon for teenage (haha, yeah right) monsters. Hiding tentacles, green skin, too weak to properly disguise themselves. This thought of this weakness eased my nerves a bit, and momentarily I relaxed. But the brief lapse paradoxically made me triple my heightened awareness and agitation.

He could be cleverly disguising himself - itself - to appear non-descript, to appear weak so he could pounce when I least expected it.

On top of all this stress was my confusion. Why had Peter (it's a monster. Don't personalise it) looked so panicked when he saw me? Was he actually a demigod and he thought I was the monster?

Would a monster lie about needing to go to the bathroom rather than killing me right then and there?

Frustration made sitting in my tiny demobilising chair unbearable. I stamped my feet, uncrossed and recrossed my legs, clicking my pen, covering an entire page with senseless scribbles - nothing reduced my high energy levels.

I barely survived the next period, finally understanding the normal teenager's idea of a 'slow and torturous death'.

By the time the bell rang for break, I was ready to scream, kick the teacher and high-tail it out of there.

I wished I had my friends with me at that moment, someone I could release all my pent up energy with. Maybe I could even go IM Percy. With hurried footsteps, I moved to my locker.

I had two more periods - oh, Zeus, smite me now - and I slung my backpack off my shoulder and onto my knees. I felt awkward and off balanced as I levered books out and in of my bag.

I retched open the metal locker, which was lacking in lustre just as it lacked in personality.

Something brushed my shoulder.

Instantly the hair on my arms spiked and pure animalistic instincts took over my movements.

My books tumbled to the floor, adding to the ever present noise of the hallway. Everything started to fade into the background as adrenaline shot to my brain.

My hand immediately grabbed whatever touched my shoulder. If my grip were iron, my eyes would be steel. I quickly stood, turning around, efficiently twisting the perpetrator's arm.

"Ah!" came a girlish voice, not at all monstrous.

That was because the person I had in an arm lock was neither a monster nor a girl. It was a mortal boy - broad shoulders and corded arms, I noted as I let him go. I felt instantaneously guilty (why am I so paranoid? I have dealt with monsters in school before).

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," I stuttered, was careful to say God rather than gods. The teenage boy grunted as I gently but quickly released him.

I laughed in embarrassment. Look at me, first day in school and I had already roughened up someone.

"I lived in a tough neighbourhood," I stammered, my face feeling as hot as the Fields of Punishment. "I was raised to judo flip anyone who touched me. You're lucky you got off with an arm twist," I continued when the boy was fully upright.

He moaned, flexing his arm, testing his muscles for functionality. He groaned, giving a boyish grin.

"I do consider myself lucky... Now I have an excuse to introduce myself without looking like a dweeb. I'm Flash... and you owe me a date for almost breaking my arm," he smiled so wide I could see perfect white molars. He offered his hand, ready to shake mine.

I shook it slowly, confused about his intentions. Then much to my surprise, he bowed down and kissed my knuckles. Who did this guy think he was? Sir Lancelot?

Then I realised he was trying to make himself look smooth and save face in front of the small audience that had gathered to watch the little spectacle that I caused with my overreaction.

I was almost tempted to flirt back. But I decided against it.

I ripped my hand away from his lingering lips. I set my jaw and narrowed my eyes.

"My name is Annabeth. And if you touch me again, I will judo flip you six feet under." I turned on my heel, collected my books (careful not to give Flash a cinematic view of my behind) and left.

"So it's a date!" I heard him shout before I was lost in the crowd.

With me still being giggling silently over the scene, I started figuring out where I should sit. I decided I would sit in the cafeteria, where I could identify the food chain.

I pushed and shoved through the rancid stampede, only relying on my footing to keep myself off people's toes.

I was deposited into a large, high ceilinged hall, dotted with baby blue tables and swarming with teenagers. I found an empty table in the corner and started to eat my homemade lunch.

Peering through eyelashes, I started picking out people and giving them mental labels. It occurred to me that high school was much like a jungle. Animals with drive to find a mate, to eat and get out alive.

Even the social hierarchy followed the natural food chain.

Lining the walls were the primary sources - those who made the homework themselves. The teachers, eyeing groups suspiciously.

On the left were the secondary sources - the ones who actually did the homework. If I had to pick any link in the food chain to associate, I would pick the secondary.

And lastly the tertiary sources - the ones who fed off the ones who did the homework. I would rather avoid them in fear of getting too much of the wrong attention. I would rather not get pinned as a cheerleader or a needy new girl.

None of them contained Peter.

If he isn't a primary, secondary or tertiary source, does that make him a decomposer, gorging himself on the remains?

I took a deep breath, imagining oxygen diffusing into my lungs and breathed out. Nothing. He's not here. Nothing to worry about. I put down my sandwich, no longer hungry.

Turning my attention away from my surveillance, I started to inspect my papers next to my lunch. I was currently interning in a construction firm, hoping that the experience would improve my credentials and compensate for my inability to write 'I rebuilt Olympus - located on the Empire State Building's hundredth floor' on an application form. The only institution where that credential would get me was a mental asylum.

Not that anything would truly make up for that. Come on, who can say that they have been hired to build heaven?

I already had the rest of my day planned: I would go to see my boyfriend, call Magnus about his frequent calls in the middle of the night about his stupid showdown between Thor and Jesus and, finally, head to the construction firm.

There was no space in my schedule for a stupid boy-monster.

* * *

 _ **That cute little scene with Flash and Annabeth was just to fill this chapter. So think nothing of it. There is no FlashXAnnabeth... Flabeth (the worst ship name ever).**_

 _ **Originally, this paragraph was 700 words... which is ridiculous, even for a filler. So I hope you understand why I had to create Flabeth. Actually... just curious, but who actually ship Flabeth? Not that I'm likely to include it, so don't be afraid to tell me your opinion.  
**_

 _ **But trust on the fact that the next chapter is something interesting is going to happen *winks***_

 _ **Jamie Edge**_


	4. Now I'm Actually Stalking Her

_**About this chapter, can I just apologise if the dialogue feels forced or whatever? I have tendency to put unintentionally sarcastic exclamations marks! (T.T)**_

 _ **But it was still a super fun chapter to write. Hope you enjoy.**_

 **CHAPTER 4: Now I'm _Actually_ Stalking Her**

 **PETER POV**

* * *

It was not my proudest moment when I bunked 2 periods to Internet stalk someone. Nor was it my proudest moment when I decided to follow her home.

You are probably thinking, _"Oh, Pete, why did you have to sink to that level?_ Pleeeeaaase _tell me you're joking."_

And here's me putting you at ease: I _am_ joking. I didn't follow her home... I followed her to her _friend's_ house.

Which isn't much better.

I was lounging on the roof of the school, swaddled in my winter coat, peeking down at the leaving students. I had my Spiderman mask in my jacket pocket, just in case I had to start following her over the rooftops.

The teenagers flooded out, colours swirling and pooling. It actually reminded me of one of my kindergarten art projects that Aunt May refused to take off the fridge. This goes to say that it looked ugly.

I didn't think Annabeth was comfortable enough to join a after school activity yet... but she did leave late, presumably to do homework (but I doubt my theory; it _is_ only her first day at Midtown High.)

Her hair was a stripe of blond in its ponytail, with a boxy bag heavy with books. She was skipping down the stairs so fast I was surprised she didn't trip over herself. She jogged to the sidewalk, glanced up and down the street, presumably looking for a cab.

Once she realised none would come, she started heading to a main road.

I hurriedly pulled on my mask and ripped off my clothing. Not all my clothing, don't think I would do that... in this weather. I stuffed it all my stuff into my bag, which I stowed away on the school's roof.

I made sure to leave the building - well, the top of the building - by staying in the shadows. I threw myself off the ledge, wire spurting out of my wrists.

I couldn't be too far behind. She only had two legs... not that I don't, but my swinging arms had to count for _something_. Maybe I will sprout six more legs...

No, stop thinking.

I ejected bio wire out of my wrist, moving along the even landscape of New Yorkian roofs, allowing myself to move slowly so not to go faster than her. It was weirdly nice, moving slowly. When I was spinning through the air, my body was no longer there but I would the impression I made on the air currents. Here, crouched with ventilation shafts and shifting fabric. Made me feel like _Cat_ man rather than Spiderman. Which is more glamorous than it sounds.

I peeked over the edge of my current building, feeling relieved that I peeked when I did or I wouldn't have noticed Annabeth collapsing in a seat of a taxi. I took note of the cab number, _**089**_. I'll keep an eye for that one.

Knowing that it was peak hour and it was pointless to "pursue" a car in any regard, I jumped a couple of buildings before relaxing, enjoying the scenery and how the air tasted like pollution. My charge, my city, my burden. I made sure that I wouldn't be seen by out lookers. Ninja movies always say that people never look up, and that's mostly true. But with my rising publicity, there were always kids looking at the tops of buildings, cautious pedestrians hoping that, in the event they get mugged, they will be saved. And of course, if Annabeth was an assassin, she'd surely have a little bit of remote security from the other Abduction Kids.

I kept my eyes fixed on the black lettering on _089_ , determined not to let it out of my sight. A classic New York cab with checked stripes and a yellow paint job. The taxi driver definitely took pride in their work.

After a boring fifteen minutes, the taxi was released from the constipated (no, not congested) main roads and the real chase began.

I did this by letting of the wire, launching my body doing some complicated spin - a 60 degree launch, two flips and landing primly on my hands. To make myself feel more awesome, I did a handspring onto my feet.

No

Thought

Just

Move.

That's what it was like. A beautiful numb/hyper awareness. The cold air bruising my skin, fingers burning on wire, my hair scratching against my forehead.

With this pure animal within me, I tracked Annabeth with stealth - well, flashy, acrobatic stealth. If that's even a thing. And if it isn't a thing, I'm making it a thing.

At first I thought she was going to heading to my house - sending hot spikes of fear through me - but they took the turn off to Manhattan. She directed the driver through the capillaries of the island, until she got out at a shabby apartment in the dirtier side of the neighbourhood. She got out of the car, payed the driver, giving him a good natured pat of the side of the car.

She adjusted her bag, pressed a button - number 9, I could see from my elevated stake out area. There was a really stupid chiming noise, something that sounded like... Jingle Bells? This is what passed as an evil lair nowadays? Standards must have dropped since I beat Electro.

"Hey, Paul, it's me," she informed the intercom. I took note of her voice, its soft timbre and California accent.

A buzzing noise, a lot of effort put into shoving the door open. Annabeth blundered up stair and was lost from my view. I catapulted myself on the apartment's creamy yellow walls, the texture rough but slippery with enamel paint. I scaled up, avoiding windows.

I scaled up and down so carefully I felt like I was the mercury in a thermometer, my ears trying to pick up sounds of Annabeth's voice. Finally, I found a window on the other side of the apartment, a window equipped with a fire escape and with absolutely no view. It with a pot plant (not a _pot plant, pot plant_ , if you know what I mean) on its sill.

The smell sneaked into my nose and I felt like I was freefalling. I checked my hands on the wall; yes, my hands still had tiny hairs that kept me stuck to the wall. It smelled like honey and... cold. Like downing an icy drink and feeling it trickling down you oesophagus, through your chest cavity and into your belly. I could its freshness in my lungs, diffusing into my blood, making my senses light up.

With all this happiness that this thing cause, I wouldn't be surprised it if was a _pot plant, pot plant._

Still revelling in the sensation, I maneuvered myself so my back was pressed onto the brick wall. I dared to peek into the room and was surprised to see a teenager's room.

Inside out socks lurked underneath a single bed, a collage of photographs, a cluttered desk and a half open cupboard. Proof of mother-intervention was apparent in the relatively clear floor and the hastily-made bed.

"- he seriously said that?" It was then I became aware of feet ascending stairs. I slammed myself into the wall, my muscles and eyes clenched.

"Yeah, I don't know why he's on my case. It's not like it's _my_ fault that that stupid leopard bit his finger off. I just happened to be there for... confidential reasons," a male voice complained. It was choppy with a New Yorkian accent and irritation.

An all knowing laugh trilled. "It's not like I don't know what _'confidential reasons'_ really means, Percy." So the boy's identity. I could see him in my mind's eye now: not that boy in the newspaper picture anymore, from what I could tell from the post-puberty voice. No more narrow shoulders; broad Hulk shoulders and arms gained from combat training. Harder eyes, less effected by emotions that Annabeth's were. Height advantage over all his components.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I was there on very important, leadery business," Percy shouted indignantly. I mentally corrected his colloquial error of _leadery_ to _leaderly_.

"Uh hu. Did you go there for the snausages? Or did you go to kill the Stolls?" This was tossed out so carefully, like the 'joke' was hard to configure. My stomach dropped. They were barely five minutes into their conversation and they were already talking about death, someone they knew whom had a finger bitten off by a leopard. Percy hadn't even put any stress when he relayed his side of the story, as if witnessing of someone being eaten by an animal, was just a funny but minor event.

 _Teenagers._ The same age as I was.

"Nah, I've delayed my assassination plans for after test week. And anyways, it was more like _I_ was the one who was killed. Mr D looked ready to behead both Seymour and I. Well, in regards for Seymour, again," I began to understand Mr. D was their leader, perhaps even the terrorist who had kidnapped them when they were twelve. All the dots connected. The mysterious use of _Mr. D_ , on a no first names to be mentioned basis. Having assassination plans for a group called the Stolls, a task that was mostly likely the _'confidential reason'_ for Percy's meeting with Mr. D.

My skin was becoming clammy and my grip on the wall was loosening.

 ** _BANG BANG BANG._**

And I was gone.

My fingers held me up into a perfectly perpendicular handstand. I fell into bridge and came up with my feet in parallel position. I was ready for the two Abduction Kids to come rocketing from the fire escape's stairs, ready to intercept their eavesdropper.

But nobody came. Only the sound of banging - less like bullets now, more like plastic on plastic. I cautiously braved a glance down into the alley, only to find a man is a tweed jacket throwing some trash into a dumpster. I watched as the man stuff a black bag into in, sending a nauseating stench of garbage wafting upward.

So the pot plant has many useful qualities.

The man went back inside and sounded like he had a hard time shutting it.

 _ **BANG BANG BANG.**_

I once again guided myself down to Percy's window and tuned back in.

"- you don't practice during school terms! You could get killed if you don't keep your skills sharpened!" Annabeth shrieked. She sounded horrified than I was with her.

"My mom doesn't like it when I practice the house. The last time I brought I jav into the house, I took out my mom's china set! And anyways, I've never had to sharpen anything. My sword is sharpens itself," Percy tried to crack a joke but even I could hear that was a little forced.

"Well, you should do fencing. It's like actual sword fighting except with no-murder rule," she sounded resigned.

"Eh, doesn't sound like my thing."

"Percy..." she started warningly. Percy was quick to change the subject before she berated him further.

"How was your first day at school?"

"Well, it's not technically my _first_ -"

"Shut up, Annabeth. You know what I mean."

I explored the idea that she had been at Midtown before her so-called 'first day'. Did she first scout out the area, study the exits and entrances, possible escape roots? Find the most efficient way to corner me if it ever came to that.

"It was okay, I guess. The teachers seem decent, the kids are still checking me out - and no, Percy, nothing that you should worry about - and... yeah. It was okay. Fine," Annabeth rambled like a normal teenager would in response to the ever annoying _how was your day?_ question.

"Nothing... unusual?" This was the first time Percy's voice had dipped into something more intimate and worried, instead of light and carefree.

Annabeth's tone was the opposite. She made a rude scoffing noise in her throat. "Nothing I wouldn't be able to handle." This was arrogance to my ears that stung like acid.

I am... an easy target, quick to finish off, _malleable_?

It was ridiculous, being offended that Annabeth would feel nothing if she killed me. I tried to convince myself that this was an advantage, that this is her underestimating her enemies. But the ridiculous humiliation stayed with me when I headed home for lunch.

I would prove her wrong.

* * *

 ** _I sincerely hope the dramatic irony killed y'all._**

 ** _Okay, not really sincerely. I need the fans that favourite and review to stay alive._**

 ** _The rest of them can just die._**

 ** _;P_**

 ** _Jamie Edge_**


	5. Nice Seeing Ya'

**_Sorry for the late update. It was the holidays and I couldn't distinguish between weekdays and weekends. When I was told the first day of school, I was shocked. I thought I still had TIME. But, nay, my plans to watch the rest of my netfixs were foiled.  
_**

 **CHAPTER 5: Nice Seeing Ya'  
**

* * *

"Nothing I can't handle myself," I snapped.

Percy looked slightly stung but he got over it quickly. He was already used to this kind of behaviour, knowing that my fatal flaw was hubris, deadly pride. Saying _yes, there is a rampaging monster in my biology class, want to_ _help me?_ was the equivalent of stabbing myself in the gut. But Percy, being the selfless hero, would probably benefit from not knowing anything about the Bio boy. Rather not make him worry.

But judging from the crease between his eyebrows - _how on earth and in Olympus can he look so adorable doing that? -_ I had already worried him. I sighed again.

"Look, Percy, there's nothing you should have a restless nights about here. It's just someone I suspect of being a monster - for all I know; he could be a mortal or a demigod who thinks _I'm_ the monster. It doesn't mean I'm in any immediate danger," I restarted in a gentler voice, nudging myself into his arms and wrapping myself in his embrace. "Anyway, he's rather funny looking, so you have even less to worry about."

Percy smiled at this, looking relieved that the threat appeared only to be theoretical. I knew that he never worried about me around other guys - well, except Jason, because Jason just got on Percy's nerves - because, somewhat naively and heart-warmingly, he expected those who were close and dear to him to reciprocate with the same unwavering loyalty he freely gave to them.

His muscles flexed around me as his arms encapsulated me in warm, drawn-out squeeze. And my heart glowed a little brighter, my brain locking this one, minor gesture and moment into another happy memory of my relationship with Percy. In the least sappy way possible, I believed that our story would be told for years and millennia to come. It was impossible for it not to be, what with us both being involved in two great prophecies. We might go down in history with the greats, with our stories told with equal relevance as those about Theseus and Helen, and Jason and Hercules. I knew our stories wouldn't feature in museums or in mythology books, but rather in the stories of the next generation of demigods.

But that made it all the more special and private.

"KIIIIIDDDDDDSSSS! LUNCH'S ON THE TABLE!"

Well, so much for the moment.

I tentatively started pushing Percy's arms off around my body, but he refused to budge. I pushed harder, meeting more resistance.

Percy groaned lazily, sticking his nose into my hair. I didn't leave the conditioner in so it was curly and a bit wild. He sneezed. I didn't know if he sneezed into my hair or if he managed to turn his head to the side, but I shrieked anyway.

Now, I was not usually a girly girl, but I knew enough to know that snotty hair was _not okay_. His arms disappeared from my waist, as he backed onto the narrow bed.

 _"EW EW EW EW!_ Did you just blow your nose in my hair?! Oh my gods!" His arms disappeared from my waist as he backed onto the narrow bed. I started running my hands over my hair, feeling for any wet patches. I was probably spreading his snot bacteria all over my hands, but I needed to know.

Percy was laughing, hands gripping his stomach as he rolled on his bed. He was laughing so hard, his jaw muscles were straining and his face was red, showing signs of oxygen deprivation.

I stood there, after having checked my hair for snot - thank the gods it was a dry sneeze - and waited patiently for him to stop laughing. And tried to stop myself from bursting into laughing by crossing my arms and trying to look as peeved off as I did a few second before.

"- _eh, eh, eeeeehhh_... Oh, gods, that was priceless," Percy exhaled, finally coming out of cardiac arrest, wiping away tears with the heel of his hand.

I tried not to agree.

"You do realise you are the worst boyfriend ever, right?" Percy, who had barely recovered, started laughing again. I couldn't help it; I started laughing too. Soon we were both on the floor, in stitches.

"Kids, I thought I told you -" Sally stopped what she was about to say. At her feet were two delusional teenagers, breathless and giddy, trying to explain in broken syllables that _"Percy - snee - in - m' hair"_

Sally didn't understand a word of it, but she smiled nonetheless. These teenagers could be half god, but they were also half kids.

Three minutes later, the whole household was at the dinner table, eating burgers. It was delicious, naturally, since everything prepared by the hand of Sally Jackson tasted amazing.

"So how was your first day at school, honey?" Sally asked before taking a too large-to-be-ladylike bite of her food.

I swallowed my food quickly, trying to eliminate the possibility of an awkward silence and raising Percy's suspicions.

"It was great, Sally. I'm not quite settled in ye-," I coughed, starting to regret my talk now, chew later approach.

"Nothing... unusual?" I was struck by how similar Percy was to his mother. Sure, he was created in Poseidon's image - the same black hair, eyes and tanned face. But underneath all that Hero of Olympus branding, Percy was his mother to the core.

Percy and I shared a look, both of us recognising the parroting of that phrase. I turned my attention back to Sally. "Nothing at all, ma'am," I lied, knowing that convincing her would be harder than convincing Percy.

"Now, Annabeth, you know you don't have to ' _ma'am_ ' me," she chastised gently, scrunching up her nose and eyebrows in a very Percy-like manner. I smiled, 100% sure my mouth looked like a disgusting food trap.

"Sorry, natural reaction. My school - well, my old school - used to drill it into our skulls that everyone is to be called ma'am or sir," I shrug before taking a sip of my water.

Percy may have only realised now that Sally was closing in on my lie, because he - bless his soul - started to make an effort to change the subject. "How's your thingy at the..." he struggled to find the word, "that _thingy_ place you're always going on about." He gave up, taking the opportunity to take a monster chunk out of his burger, and as he chewed, waited for the Sally inquisition to play out in yummy, safe silence.

I took the gap that he offered _,_ pretending that _thingy place_ was a suitable synonym for _construction firm._ "I'm actually heading there soon. We have a new project we are working on. I'm going for a briefing, not that I do anything but get them coffee. Occasionally they let me suggest making improvements. Nothing amazing; it just looks impressive on a CV," I filled her in. And it was true; the work of an intern was boring. No creativity or input. The only engagement was the occasional _"can you bring me our sketches"_ and _"get me a coffee, Miss Chasy. Here's the cash for the cappuccino."_ If I was lucky, I would get a _"Thank_ _you"_ for the errands I was sent on.

Really, being an intern was like the training to be a barista or PA instead of an architect.

"What's the project?" Paul inquired, participating in the conversation for the first time since getting his hands on his food.

I covered my mouth with the back of my hand, speaking with my mouth full. "Just a woman in Queens wanting to install some burglar bars. Nothing major, since the company is tiny. She may or not be expanding to sell, I can't remember."

"Burglar bars? Why now, what with the reduction in crime rates? Especially Queens. That place is squeaky clean nowadays, thanks to that Spiderman fellow," Paul explained, gesturing to the newspaper. "It's a shame that all the other newspapers has caught onto the Burge's nonsense. So much for revealing the truth. More like revealing the truth that they like to hear. And all of them take advantage of the fact Spiderman has no backstory and no defence lawyers, so they can make their own little scandalised stories because nobody knows him and therefore no one can call them out without revealing his secret identity. A damn shame. The world never has enough heroes," Paul finished his rant off with a sad look at the two teenagers.

 _Brrr._

My thigh vibrated, sending shivers up my spine.

I put the tiny remainders of my delicious burger back on my plate, frantically digging for my phone in my pocket. The phone was only for mortal emergencies, only used when I _had_ to call my dad when I was in trouble or when he was in trouble. It made me more accessible because IMs aren't always efficient. Some mortals had trouble making them and they were super expensive due to the scarcity of drachmas.

What had the Fates done now?

My shoulders were shaking a little when I clicked the middle button, but my screen had dimmed and... the message read **5% BATTERY, PLEASE CHARGE** in a white textbox.

I sagged into my chair, relieved that it wasn't a life-demolishing problem I had to deal with. All I was required to do was find my charger.

I clicked **OK** and noticed the time.

Shoot.

Anxiety was right back up.

"Damn it! The consulting session is in thirty minutes!" I exclaimed, apologised to the company at the table and raced upstairs. I identified my bag in Percy's abomination of a room. Being late for the first appointment was bad and my boss was a complete... nice person. In the same way the Furies were kind, of course.

I bulldozed down the steps, snatched the last piece off the plate and crammed it into my mouth. I ran through the door, bag on back, mouth full, but shouting my goodbyes and thanks for the dinner.

I got my hands onto the door handle, opening the latch and was prepared to walk until I got my butt into a taxi. "Aff o 'owwwy fo' iis 'awii!" I shouted, although I'd prefer it to sound more like _I'm so sorry for this, Sally!_

"Wait, Annabeth, let me take you! The Prius just got out of repairs," Paul pulled on his infamous twead jacket and followed me out the door, locking it behind us. "Let's go," he affirmed with me and managed to keep up with my frenzied jiggling, my bag and stuff that made my movements wild and awkward.

We were in the car and weaving between traffic in no time, breaking laws and barely managed to get there in time. I thanked him and headed into the company's building. Mrs Willus was already gliding down the concrete steps, looking more angry and irritated than usual.

"Miss Chasy, I have been waiting longer than necessary. We are heading out to meet our client _now,_ so if you don't get your ass into the van right now, your recommendation letter isn't going to look so pretty," she breezed past me, her car giving a perky _click click_ as it unlocked the doors.

"So sorry ma'am. I promise it won't happen again," I grovelled, although a spurt of fury began building up in my stomach. Like our camp director, she refused to pronounce my name properly. But, again like Dionysus, I had to grin and bear it in fear of getting turned into a dolphin. Except of course, Mrs Willus didn't have the power to turn me into any kind of aquatic animal.

I trotted behind her, sitting in the backseat ("because that's where the inexperienced children belong") and quickly checked my phone as she started driving. The harpie, I was _exactly_ on time. What the hell was her problem?

I knew already she wasn't a monster because I had once lent her a pen made of celestial bronze (no, not Riptide) and she hadn't screamed on contact. Just to make confirm her status of being a naturally horrible person… Actually, I don't think she gave my pen back. I mused that I should locate that pen to reclaim it as it was super valuable, as it was my more subtle way of identifying monsters-in-disguise. It was way safer and more sustainable than outright stabbing them.

I'm pretty sure if I had stabbed her, I would never get employed in the States... _ever._

I turned my phone off, trying to save the pathetic three per cent. Turned out I was going to have to call Magnus tomorrow. Oh well.

"Chasy, do remember what you have to do?" Mrs Willus asked patronisingly. This caused me no offence because this was my first proper job at the company.

"No, ma'am," I replied truthfully. It wasn't like she was the helpful boss and briefed me on what I would have to do.

She sighed, like my inability to respond was my fault. I could practically hear her eyes roll. "Well, while I consult the client, I expect you to measure the perimeter and take other measurements. She wants to fit in burglar bars; you need to fill in this," she extended her right hand to the passenger seat, picking up a piece of paper from a pile seemingly at random and passed it over her shoulder. I took it. It was a blueprint and a small notebook clipped to a board.

We spent the rest of the trip in silence as she transported the company van into Queens. The reason the construction company had taken on this very small job was that the client seemed to have a long-standing and profitable (from the company's perspective of course) relationship.

When we got there, I think I fell in love all over again. It was a quaint street, with brick walls and stairs that led down onto the street. Each of the terraced houses had little gardens that overflowed with green, making it feel like I was in London rather than America.

"This is the place," Mrs Willus said curtly and gathered up her bag. I made sure to get out of the car before her because if I didn't, she would lock the car. With me in it. It happened before.

I opened her door for her, earning no thanks or recognition. She charged forward, ready to take the house by storm. I slammed the door just in time for the _click click_ of a locking car.

Mrs Willus rang the doorbell, already impatient. I wondered if she was an only child, used not having to play nice with others or have to wait for your sibling to finish up in the bathroom. Probably spoilt rotten... well, she wa _s_ rotten now.

She seemed to remember something on the last minute because she quickly grabbed my sleeve, catching even me by surprise.

She hissed in my ear, "You will refer to her as either _ma'am_ or _Mrs Parker_. Nothing else. Do you understand?"

The door opened.

* * *

 _ **Hehe... yep, I didn't do the cliché school project like y'all were expecting. I made it personal *cracks knuckles***_

 _ **But now I don't know what to do. I'm so ill prepared.  
**_

 _ **If you have actual opportunity to suggest what you want me to do in the future. I can't guarantee I will use your suggestion since I have a long term plan for this story. But I can't tell you what I am looking for specifically in fear of revealing too much.**_

 _ **Jamie Edge**_


	6. Not What I Expected

**Sorry for the late update guys. I was so busy with school stuff what I barely had time or headspace to get this edited. It just sat there as a draft, waiting until I remembered it.**

 **But, in all honesty, this chapter isn't great. *shrugs* so don't get overly excited just yet. The fun has barely begun. *smiles like a normal person would***

 **CHAPTER 6: Not What I Expected**

* * *

When I saw Annabeth at my door step, the force of the shock and dismay almost brought tears to my eyes.

But I won't admit that. Because I'm a big, strong man. A big, strong, worthy-of-killing _Spider_ man. I won't admit I almost peed myself either.

Annabeth looked equally shocked, if not more. It made her entire demeanour open up, the rigid control of her facial muscles magically unfolding and made me notice how vulnerably young she really was.

She looked different now without her hat or her thick jacket, tanned with sun-freckles on the bridge of her pert nose. Her shoulders were angular and lithe with muscle. Her hair was super frizzy, sticking out in the odd way I associated with Goku.

I wondered what I must have looked like, in a t shirt with the words _MAKE SCIENCE NOT LOVE, and certainly not to mention_ my fluffy slippers. So much for proving myself to be a forbidding opponent.

"Mr Parker, is it not?" the woman next to Annabeth - a woman I had not noticed until now - offered her hand. "We are here on the behalf of the _Willus Construction Firm_. I am Mrs Willus and I have reason to believe we have an appointment with Mrs," she glanced at the paper, " _May Parker_. Is she here?"

This woman was very different from Annabeth, imposingly tall in out-dated heels and an impeccable suit. I shook her hand, noticing the placement of _Mrs_ but no ring.

"This here is my assistant in training," I couldn't help but notice Annabeth's eyes roll, "Miss Chasy. Miss Chasy meet... I'm sorry, young man, but I didn't catch your first name." The young blonde gave a look that could assassinate at the woman.

"Peter Parker," I replied numbly, a little disorientated with the sudden shift from _Spiderman problems to a Peter Parker problem in_ dealing with a bossy, possibly arrogant architect.

"Well, Peter, meet Miss Chasy. Where's your grandmother exactly?" Mrs Willus asked impatiently, looking a degree away from peering over my shoulder.

Panic seized me. Did I want to tell them to go away in order to keep all of the Abduction Kids or did I want to let them in because my aunt had a scheduled appointment with them? I opted not to let them in.

I was already closing the door, while mumbling the lie "Sorry, my _Aunt_ May isn't here."

Mrs Willus' foot was wedged in between the gap before the latch could click. I cried in outrage, stricken by fear. It entered my mind that this might be a trick and they were prepared to get into the house whether they did it subtly or not. I slammed my heel onto her toes, opening the door so she could pull away before slamming it closed again.

This time, the latch clicked and I felt a huge amount of relief. I stepped back from the door, ducking for cover behind the wall in case they decided to bust in, guns blazing. I was ready to dash to fetch my costume and attack them from above, driving them away from my safe haven.

"Who was at the door, Peter?"

I had a mini heart attack, instinctively turning with a raised fist. I stopped myself just before I sucker punched my Aunt May in the face. My halted fist's shadow hovered on her cheek, an imitation of the bruise she would receive if I had not retracted quickly enough.

Aunt May had a face of absolute shock. Her crinkles fell away and all her sleepy demeanour was incinerated by fear. She saw how my muscles tensed, how quickly I was ready to lash out with my fist. This was her first glimpse of my capability for violence. This person who could clearly punch with the right technique - thumb outside of fist, feet firmly planted - was unlike _her_ Peter Parker. Her Peter Parker would shy away from a fight, flounder if he was in one.

I lowered my fist and made my tall frame crumbled, a depiction of anxiety and shame.

"Was it... _them_?" Aunt May asked, connecting the dots between the people at the door and my jumpiness.

"I - I think it is," my voice trembled, my heart constricting from my half-truth. I did think it was them, but not the mobsters whom Aunt May thought had with a beef with me because I did something wrong, that I haven't paid them back. I kept imagining knives out of sleeves, black suits and snipers.

"Should I call the police?" Her hand was already in her pocket.

I grabbed her wrist, preventing her from making this more complicated than it had to be. "No, don't. Trust me on this."

 _Knock, knock, knock._ "Mrs Parker, we are here from the _Willus Construction Firm_. I apologise if we upset your grandson; it was a simple misunderstanding. You booked an appointment with us for five o'clock," I could hear the older woman's voice coming through the door.

Aunt May gave me a look, and went to go look through the window. She brushed the curtain away so she could clearly see the two persons on our porch. I knew what she was seeing: two women, not the big, tattooed goons she was picturing. I could see she started to think I was over-reacting, because it was natural for everyone to underestimate women, political correctness or no.

"Are you sure? I did my research and _that_ is the manager. This can't be fake, and what's the possibility of me choosing a fake construction company?" Aunt May reasoned, sounding more annoyed than worried.

"No, no, no, no! It's the girl! It's the girl that I'm worried about!" I insisted, sounding more and more desperate.

"No, now you're being unreasonable," she was already heading for the door, twisting the lock open. I was hyperventilating now - _I don't want Annabeth in my house, having full access to my personal space, gaining advantage over me, having an excuse to intrude into my house -_ to the point that I almost used my bio wire to wrench Aunt May's hand.

The door opened, exposing our little, vulnerable abode to the eyes of the assassins.

Mrs Willus had composed herself, looking unruffled by our tussle. Annabeth looked deep in thought, semi translucent eyebrows furrowed. The older woman was beaming, but it was forced and overly polite.

She revelled in Aunt May's profuse apologies, strutting into the house, like by placing her feet onto the floor it automatically belonged to her. I almost hated her as much as I did Annabeth.

Annabeth shadowed her, a solider at ease. She was holding a clip board and tape measure in one hand and a pen in the other. She listened in, bored with the conversation, waiting to receive an order to speak.

"I am really sorry, Mrs Willus. My nephew was just being cautious. I raised him not to let strangers into the house, you see? And I didn't inform him that you were coming, so I am comforted about how he reacted really," Aunt May babbled. With that look on her face, I immediately knew what was coming next. "Would you like a cup of tea, Mrs Willus? To make up for this inconvenience."

Mrs Willus, eager for free catering, agreed. It was a wonder that her company was still in business, with her people skills.

We all moved to the kitchen, Annabeth and I had trouble about who should go in first, both of us not trusting that the other would not to stab each other in the backs. In the end, I decided to go first because the _no, you go first_ was driving me insane.

By the time I stepped into the kitchen, I regarded myself as lucky not to be a knife cushion.

The manager sat down in one of the stools at the island counter, back straight and proper. She and Aunt May conversed, discussing what was required, the financial implications, how long it was going to take, blah, blah, blah.

Meanwhile Annabeth and I were regarding each other - not blatantly, rather noticing things out the corner of our eyes. She kept her hands close to her hips, her right hand stuck firmly in one of her deep pockets. I struggled to keep my hands close to my sides, constantly fidgeting with the fabric of my clothing, clenching and unclenching from open palm to fist to web-shooting positions.

"Miss Chasy, darling, come here," Mrs Willus started, doing her best to sound motherly. Annabeth tried to muffle her sigh and walked over to her boss, clipboard pressed to her chest. "Remember those measurements I talked about in the car? I need you to go and take those," she turned her eyes to me, her gaze assessing. "Could you direct her around the house, Peter?"

The way she said it, and given how my aunt glared in my direction, told me it wasn't really a question. But I mentally questioned the likelihood of me getting through this tour alive.

* * *

 _ **I was so very tempted to continue but I have not doled out enough cliff-hangers for my taste.**_

 **But, yeah, that was basically a really boring filler. The next chapter will be better (hopefully) but I can tell you that there will be some confrontation going on! Ha, my second cliff-hanger! Deal with that!** **  
**

 _ **Jamie Edge**_


	7. Something Else

**Again, sorry about the late update. I wrote Physical Science, 2nd Language Literature, Mathematics Paper 2 and Chemistry. Back to back. So I fell off the grid and died. At least I have the easy subjects left. You know; just Language and Biology.**

 **CHAPTER 7: Something Else**

* * *

 **ANNABETH**

I shuffled down the hallway, dread making my stomach queasy. I could practically feel the chunks of my lunch moving up and down my oesophagus. It wasn't so much as my nervousness, but the growing monstrous tension that followed us as we walked.

Peter - I allowed myself the luxury of calling him that - led me silently through his home. He kept glancing back at me, not adding commentary to the tour.

We entered the living room, the soft snowy, gently billowing gauze of the curtains reminding me strongly of my paternal grandmother's house. The room was remarkably, comfortably ordinary and welcoming. The couch was covered in plush pillows, the coffee table occupied with an orderly pile of magazines. The walls were yellow dry wall, and were liberally dotted with pictures.

Unable to help myself, I moved closer to study them. The first picture that caught my eye was one of a much younger Peter, probably about 7 years old, with missing teeth and a gleeful smile, smushed between an older couple. I didn't know if these were his parents or not, so I peered closer. Yes, they did look alike. Peter had the man's thin lipped smile, and the woman's black eyes. I scanned the other framed photos, which collectively told a story of Peter's childhood.

I bit my lip, trying to keep the guilt away. How could I think this boy was a monster? He was a mortal, with both parents known. The proof was displayed before me in this gallery of sentimentality.

I wanted to talk, an uncharacteristic urge within me, wanting to apologise. Seeing the photographs of a young Peter, the boy winning a spelling bee, an older one on Liberty Island, a chubby baby photo. There was no way that any god or being, no matter how advanced, would be able to imitate this so precisely.

"Can you please do your job?" Peter snapped, adding to my embarrassment and shame. I was intruding on his personal life. I backed away from the collage, finding my pen in my hair and propping the clip board against my chest.

I concentrated on the blueprint, spinning in a circle until I oriented the mapped layout relative to my position.

"So Mrs Parker wants these windows to have burglar-barred," I pointed at the gauze curtains, "and the upstairs as well." I contemplated my next statement, giving another thoughtful turn. "Basically all the street-facing fixtures," I decided, giving Peter a questioning look.

He looked unnerved, giving a shrug. I took this as confirmation, and dug my hand into my pocket. He tensed, eyes keenly focused on my hidden hand. I had a feeling he could sense my extra dagger in my pocket. And the draken short sword strapped to my thigh.

I ignored the cool leather sheath and pulled out the blocky measuring tape. He frowned at it and took a step back as I headed towards the windows. Two floral chairs, positioned right next to the windows, were in the way of my work, so I squatted down to lift them out of the way.

I prided myself on going to gym during school terms, keeping in shape for the athletic benefits. But the carrying of these chairs was not only a matter of strength; they were wide and bulky, making them awkward to carry. I fixed my eyes onto Peter, my jaw giving a sharp jerk. He made no move to help.

Thinking strategically, I understood. If I was an assailant, and he was to help me carry the chairs, I would have shoved the chair into his gut, thrown him off balance and struck out. Whether this boy was an enemy or not, he was cautious and he knew to be careful around me. He had seen the warrior Annabeth in that Biology classroom, not the mortal Annabeth. Who smiled a little less than the average teenager was more comfortable in her skin and tougher than a regular mortal; but still approachable.

I wrestled the cushy chairs out of my way, so I could begin my work. Peter didn't help me with this either, nor did I ask him again. He observed how I did a rough sketch of the window, meticulously filling in the diagram with measurements and neat labels in a tidy, slow handwriting.

I finished up, freeing my hands by discarding my board onto the couch. Once again, I wrestled with the heavy furniture without any assistance.

 **PETER  
**

 **(I just couldn't continue in Annabeth's POV anymore)**

I watched as Annabeth laboured how her muscles became chiselled and defined with the effort. I kept picturing her training, a bo staff twirling expertly in her hands, acting as an extension of her arms, sharp smacks like elbow jabs and whirls like helicopter blades. In this scene, I imaged Percy parrying in turn with a wickedly sharp saber.

And in my imagination, she won the sparring match.

I tried to imagine a situation where we would have to fight each other and kept on reassuring myself that I was probably faster, stronger, better than her in every aspect of fighting. My altered DNA demanded it, but I still doubted.

She finished up, straightening up and collected her clip board from the couch before tucking it under her arm. Her grip tightened as her mouth opened.

"I'm sorry about this morning," she stated, then promptly shut her mouth into a tight lipped line.

I clammed up, the extremism of the situation getting to me. My face flushed so red, I don't think I would need a mask anymore. I didn't know what to say, because what did she want me to say? I gave up, deciding to ignore her question and the ocean of unsaid things between us.

"Um, yes... uh, upstairs then." I stammered, wishing I could have had a more articulate. _Idiot idiot idiot! Why are you such a loser? 'Upstairs then' - what the hell is that?_

I gestured to the stairs, too embarrassed to do anything else. We ascended the stairs together; my eyes level with her hips. I noticed a small lump that ran parallel to her thigh that appeared wherever her leg moved to conquer a step.

We reached upstairs after a few hurried jumps. I directed her to the bathroom, with me a few steps behind her now, pointing out our path.

She had none of her earlier tense alertness, she was completely relaxed. Her shoulders were down, her fingers away from her sides. The way she walked completely changed as well - there was a sway to her hips and a less military strut.

I took this shift as either 1. She didn't plan on killing me (wishful thinking on my part), 2. She was now playing the role of a non-threatening teenage girl so that my defences dropped so she should strike out, 3. She decided that I wasn't worth stressing over.

My body stiffened just before we entered the bathroom. The bathroom usually looked like a war zone because of my somewhat untidy habits. But upon entry, it was apparent that it was immaculate, clearly through the efforts of my aunt. It was devoid of my haphazardly strewn laundry and hairy washing products.

Annabeth walked in the tiny bathroom, pencil between her thumb and index. I inhaled a slow breath, allowing myself a moment of calm and rationality.

 _This girl has technically done nothing to you. All she has done was feeling threatened by you. Maybe it's just a horrible coincidence that she arrived here, maybe her conversation with Percy were merely taken out of context._ _Maybe the Abduction Kids don't exist._

"I really didn't mean to scare you - I was just super jumpy today. The stress of a new school, new city... it was getting to me. I am sorry if I came off as threatening. I mean you have done nothing to me," Annabeth explained, flipping down the seat of the toilet down and setting her clip board on top of the medicine cabinet.

I had a very powerful urge to just walk out of the room, get my Spiderman costume and take my frustration out on a few deserving villains. "Um... well, you ... It's cool. I mean it's okay. I understand. First day is tough and stuff. There's so many idiots in school," _oh my god, Parker, shut up._

Annabeth laughed, and it was a surprisingly normal sound. I almost expected a deep throated cackle. "I ended up judo flipping a jock today. For touching my shoulder. Flash, I think his name was. Tried to ask me out," she confessed, laughed again, another shocking change of personality.

My eyes widened in disbelief. Flash? Suddenly, unable to stop myself, I burst into almost hysterical laughter. Annabeth joined weakly, somewhat weirded out my disproportionate, over-the-top response.

I managed to stifle it, reminding myself that I couldn't let down my guard. I made a monumental effort to straighten out my expression into a calm expression of polite interest.

Annabeth gave me a weird look, and continued with her task dutifully.

"So... um, this first time in New York?" I asked after a few seconds of awkward silence.

"Um... no, not really. I came here a few times... with friends. My boyfriend lives here too. How long have you been here?" she asked, turning to lean against the wall.

"Since I was born... nothing much else," _why can't I speak English today?_ "I've been living with my Aunt May since I was, like, seven. It must be nice to travel to different places."

"Yeah, my experiences weren't very scenic, mainly... never mind," she conveyed more than her words as she flipped her hand in dismissive way. She turned back to the window

"When you were a fugitive?" the words were out before I could stop myself and I had never hated myself more. _Idiot, retard, loser, stupid, dumb, uneducated, cowardly, asshat._ A torrent of inappropriate name calling dominated my internal monologue.

Annabeth's movements halted abruptly, the pen poised above the paper. Her head rotated slowly towards me, her body completely still. Her death glare in the class room was nothing compared to this; there was murder in her eyes, her face set like an iron cast axe.

"What did you just say?" Her voice was a low whisper, as deadly as it was soft.

I trembled in fear, panic making my entire body burn with humiliation and self-hate. "Nu-nu-nothing. I was just asking... when you were with your father. You have a father, right? I don't have a father, but I know not everybody doesn't have a father. Wow that was a double negative; I really can't English today. I keep tripping over my words. Why, what do you think I said?" I stammered, unable to censor any of it.

 _Wow, Parker, smooth. No wonder why the girls are all over you... oh wait._

I tried to push down my self-deprecating thoughts that would no doubt plague my head later.

I smiled my cheeks so hot that I was sure I looked like a tomato.

Annabeth's glare softened into something less life threatening - her eyes narrowed and her muscles in her jaw relaxed. She eyed me suspiciously.

She didn't say anything else, but her hands were right back to her thigh. When she reverted back to her task, she made sure to keep her peripheral vision pinned on my location.

I didn't have the courage to continue, in fear I would just make things worse. The tension was so taunt between us I didn't think a knife would cut through it; you would need to get a really big power tool just to leave a scratch.

I tried to calm myself, closing my eyes, trusting my spidy senses to alert me of any hostile approaches. I inhaled though my nose, focusing my super senses on what I could smell. The room smelled strongly of all-purpose cleaner, still slightly soiled with my sweat.

My eyebrows creased in confusion. There was also an unfamiliar smell in this room, completely alien to my nose. I inhaled again, the smell now slamming into my sensory organs like a freight train. It was unlike anything I had ever encountered with my sensitive nose.

It smelled... like... everything. I didn't know how else to describe it; it had the usual human complexities - sweat, shampoo, clothing - mixed with a heady flavour of ... I inhaled again, completely confused about the scent's identity. More details made themselves clearer - it also smelled like... books, ink printed on recycled paper.

I opened my eyes, shocked to my death bed with the trails of light that crisscrossed the room. Some of the streaks were a faint green, some yellow. A singular ribbon, glowing with ultraviolet light, naked between the tangle and led right up to... Annabeth.

She was glowing as well, continuing to measure the window, completely unaware of the aura that coloured the world around her. Above, hovering in its superiority was a small grey owl. It twisted and turned with every shift of Annabeth's head, its wings fluttering languidly.

I stood stock still, my head dipping in its rejection of the new dimension that my spider abilities had revealed to me. Bile rose in my throat.

I stumbled, supporting myself on the edge of the basin, with my elbows trembling with the strain.

I heard something fall and I wasn't quite sure if it was me or not. My head was dizzy with emotional inertia, and I felt arms pull me up by my armpits.

The stench intensified, and my head roared in disapproval. I instinctively pushed Annabeth away, making her fall onto the hard tile. I was too disorientated to know if this was a fight or she was being concerned.

I mumbled something that may have sounded like "I feel sick," before I crawled into my room across the hall.

Annabeth must have stayed where she was because the smell was losing its intensity and my head became mine again. I slammed my door closed, ignoring the lime trails of smell hovering over my floor like a smoke blanket.

I pushed my hair back, resting my body against my door.

I sighed.

 _It could have been worse,_ I reassured myself.

 _She could have killed me right there and then._

 _So it could have been much worse._

* * *

 **My inspiration for the paths is this: in Riordan's** ** _Demigods and Magicians_** **short series, Setne says that all demigods have this faint ultraviolet aura. That's why I made Annabeth's aura purple. Secondly, the owl above her is the symbol that claimed her. So my theory is that once a demigod discovers their identity/gets claimed, and their parent's symbol appears above them, it never truly goes away. I always wondered how monsters/god can just look at someone and be like "SON OF POSIDEN", but now I have a theory. Their status hovers above their heads, and when they use the Internet, their little mini spirit animal makes funny noises that the technology can pick up. And broadcast so monsters can hear them. Also, the animals act as CCTV cameras for the parents to nanny cam their kids.**

 **Anyway, so their aura leaves trails behind. They will eventually fade though. And monsters can smell it. I tried to imagine of how a demigod smells. I figured they would smell like three things: 1) a human 2) food 3) their godly parent. If you have any other theories, feel free to comment. Conspiracies make the nerdy soul fan girl.**

 **And, another origin for this concept is Orson Scott Card's** ** _Pathfinder._** **Where everybody's past leaves trails behind them and, depending on its age and species, has a different colour/intensity. So the green/yellow is humans. Purple are demigods. Monsters are... red? I'll decide later.**

 **Jamie Edge**


	8. Aftermath

**He-llooo, it's me. Do think after all these years you still remember me?**

 **(Yeah, I am aware that that it is a dead joke. I just don't care.)**

 **Lots of shit has been going on... shit, for a whole 3 months. Family drama/death, internships, job shadowing, elected as a student leader, exams, projects, my seventeenth birthday, miscellaneous club issues, surgery, etc. etc.**

 **So I was uber stressed and overworked. It feels so good to have a proper break.**

 **So while I do feel sorry for "abandoning" this story, I needed a little chill time. But now that I am 3 days in to the end of year holidays, I have that opportunity. But I am also having the shortest year break ever – I HAVE 4 WEEKS OF BLOODY CHRISTMAS HOLIDAY.**

 **It's usually, like, 6 weeks. Starting school on the 6th, establishing that school does not care about our mental sanity.**

 **CHAPTER 8: Aftermath**

* * *

Peter spasmed in my peripheral vision, spurring me to let go of my clipboard. It cluttered to the floor and I rushed to catch him before he went crashing into the bath's edge.

I caught him his shoulders, leaving his slumped over me. I overbalanced, not expecting for a 17-year-old boy to so light. I awkwardly manoeuvred to a more stable condition by lowering him.

Before I could fully arrange him on the floor, his arms straightened. Already unstable from helping him down, I tumbled the ground.

The tile hit my coccyx, sending painful electricity up the rest of my spine. I took second to regain my bearings and by that point, Peter was already on his knees.

He crawled in a panic frenzy to reach the room across the hall. There was no grace to it, his body banging against the frame of the door as he barrelled out, arms buckling underneath him.

As he retreated in a delusional haze, I noticed his really weird underwear sticking out. It was skin tight red thing, patterned with white stripes.

I grimaced, scrunching up my face as I tried to erase THAT image out of my mind.

He slumped against his door when he realised he couldn't reach the doorknob. The door, not closed fully, swung open, and he tumbled on the hardwood. He dragged himself forward until he was fully within the perimeter of the room. His leg flying to slam his door closed.

The resounding BANG echoed through the ancient and weathered home. The silence that proceeded was sudden and absolute; like I had been walking up a slope to abruptly fall off a cliff.

I took a moment to myself, allowing my brain to systematically pick up the pieces.

Peter, the boy I thought was a monster, knew too much about me to be ordinary. He let it slip that he knew of my "criminal record" – if you can call it that. I could assume he had researched me or knew of my work from a mortal perspective.

After letting it slip, he doubled over into a faint then proceeded to crawl for his life.

What a childhood that kid must have.

My knife was already out – I couldn't remember taking it out, it's off white glowing in the dingy light of the bathroom.

I slowing got up, my body sluggish and confused by the new kind of odd encounter.

I slipped my short sword into my pocket, hand running through the hole at the gigantic bottom of it until I felt my bare flesh. I slid the flat of the blade against my thigh until it was fully sheathed.

Having hidden my weapon, I raced out of the bathroom, down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Aunt May and Mrs Willus were still seated at the island over a tray filled with biscuits and the sorts. Aunt May was looking at the other women with forced politeness but Mrs Willus didn't seem to mind.

When I stumbled in, both their heads snapped to the entry. They had mixed reactions, one irritated and the other concerned.

"Something's happened to Peter," I panted, sounding more traumatised than I actually was.

Aunt May shot up, a tiny bird of a woman shapeshifting into a force of nature. She took up the entire room, strength and motherly protection piling muscle on her bones.

She gave me a look, and despite not being a mother or ever having a proper one, recognised her as a woman who would break boulders grain by grain for her children.

"Upstairs," I said and moved quickly out of the way of the doorway. She charged out, me falling in hurriedly at a safe distance.

Mrs Willus tried to catch me, probably to tell me that this was my entire fault, but I deftly avoided by practically sprinting through the house.

I raced up the stairs, taking 2 steps at a time. I gained purchase on Ms Parker's panicked steps.

The older women moved with a speed that I had trouble keeping up with, despite my A+ in Foot Racing on my Camp report. At some point, she stopped abruptly to ask directions, to which I told her "his bedroom".

We skidded to a stop outside the old door. May gave me a look that I couldn't decipher until she pointed at my feet. I understood then, staying a few paces back as she eased the door open. It didn't open much, and May gave up on pushing it. She pressed her forehead to the ageing wood and gently inquired Peter if she could come in.

No reply.

With renewed vigour she shoved the door open, sending something tumbling to the floor. I couldn't see much of what was going on, but I assumed that Peter had blocked entry with a chair. Mrs Parker tentatively explored the area, me staying faithfully in my spot despite the painful need to know urging me to disobey.

More rustling, increasingly loud hollers for Peter, followed by the exit of a defeated looking Mrs Peter. She gave me a rueful headshake, shut the door lowly and calmly guided me downstairs.

It was like all the fight had gone out of her, the power being ripped off her in one all mighty swoop. There was a profound sadness to her now, like she was walking the same path to the execution block once again.

I dare not ask what happened to Peter because I had a feeling that I already knew. He either disappeared through his window or was passed out on his bed, completely unconscious with whatever drugs he was on.

Mrs Parker softly requested that we leave her home. She said that we would be called back after this mess was resolved. Mrs Willus and I gathered our stuff, me pointedly avoiding being in the same room with her. No doubt she would blame me for this.

Mrs Parker demurely opened the door for us, not speaking much

By the time I reached the last step leading to the street, polished nails dug into my arm. I hissed, coming extremely close to pivoting with a backhanded slap.

Mr Willus dragged me to a halt, her face inches from mine.

She bared her perfect post-braces teeth. "I give you one thing to do – one! – and you manage to screw it up. Don't expect to come to work tomorrow," she spat, spittle dotting my face.

I considered giving her a piece of my mind now that I was fired. It wasn't like she could re-fire me or she had much influence with the big ups. There was nothing she could do to make my life worse than it already was.

But I prided myself on control and composure. I push the urge to lash out at her – both physically and verballed – out of my mind. I closed my eyes, breathed in and gave her a considerably fake smile.

"Good day, ma'am," I said curtly, removing all my paraphernalia from her backseat and walked away. I did this silently, Mrs Curtis watching with an ambiguous facial expression, somewhere on the spectrum of shocked, sad, satisfied and angry.

The second I rounded the corner, out of sight from her demeaning gaze, I delivered a powerful kick to the nearest rock. I spat a couple of swear words, and after a few seconds, I was calm. There was no bloody point of this job shadowing some stupid mortal company if I was already working for the gods. Why did I allow my dad to convince me to go through with this?

I sighed, cracked my knuckles and rolled my head. There was no point in getting worked up about that witchy woman.

This internship thing was only supposed to end in the next hour or so; my father was supposed to pick me up at the construction firm. The probability of me getting there without any human money was a slim one. Seems like I would have to make another arrangement.

The cold was starting to spread its icy tendrils around my finger and toes, making them too stiff to function properly. I fumbled with the zip of my rug sack, pulling out a little spray bottle.

I casually strolled into a more hidden part of the street, tugging a drachma out of my pocket. I squeezed the lever, opening up a faint but sufficient rainbow. I tossed a coin and repeated the mantra.

The IM version of static fizzled and jerked until a view of Percy's back materialised. His room was messier than it was an hour ago; shoes and clothing crawled their way out of the hell under his bed and every orifice capable of closing where open.

Percy was hunched over his desk, his shoulders so high it was obvious he was hiding something. I smiled and took great pleasure in shouting his name as loudly as possible.

His room seemed to explode spontaneously. His phone flew onto his bed (obviously opened to YouTube), a stack of books tumbling off the table and a clumsy attempt of standing up on Percy's behalf. To finish off the spectacular fail, his hand slapped his forehead in a salute.

As all was still, his chair slowly started to tip over.

I was turning purple with laughter, my chest developing asthma as I wheezed. Percy blushed in embarrassment, hurriedly transforming his salute into a running-fingers-through-hair action.

"Been in the army recently, Perce?" I attempted to tease, but I was laughing far too much to speak coherently. So it sounded more like "ha – _heu –_ be – _heh –_ the ar – _oh my gods! What are you even doing Percy?!"_

Percy started laughing with her with equal hilarity, slowly lowering himself on his wheelie chair. Having been shoved off kilter by Percy's hasty rise, it tumbled onto the floor with him in it.

Another stain of the uncontrollable laughter attacked both of our lungs. After a few minutes in which Percy righted himself and his furniture and I had to insert another drachma into the apparition, I remembered my purpose.

"...But, seriously Seaweed Brain, I need you to come pick me up," I stated, trying my damnest to keep a straight face.

He seemed to have no qualms in keeping his humour in check, instantly snapping into a concerned boyfriend. "What happened?" He leant his elbows onto his knees.

"No, the job went wrong. One of the tenants got sick and we had to go. My dad's not gonna pick me up anytime soon. Probably more if you factor in his hopeless sense of direction."

He looked worried (no doubt factoring in his own hopeless sense of direction) and asked, "Where you at?"

Recalling the forms printed by the Willus Construction Firm, I replied. "12 Wong Road, Forest Hills, Queens."

He seemed to realise he was supposed to note them down, started scratching around for a pen. (This was SUPPOSED to be on his desk if he were doing homework). "Could you repeat that?" he asked, and I answered in kind. He scribbled it onto the inside of this wrist and after giving it a once over, seemed pleased with his penmanship. "Pick you up on Blackjack?"

"Yeah."

"See you in 10," he got out before I swiped my hand through the mist.

 **TEN MINUTES LATER**

The underside of my pelvis was starting to feel the ache of prolonged sitting. My legs were lanky and sprawled over the steps of some random person's house. My elbows propped me up as I kept an eye on the sky.

I took this time to contemplate, thinking on the expression on Peter's face as he panicked. He had this look of… well, seeing a ghost.

The more I thought about it, it was the look of someone discovering something that they wished they had not. I was ashamed to not have recognised it sooner. I had seen it a million times; usually when confronted with their final seconds of their old life. I myself had worn it in my most vulnerable of moments; when the spiders started erupting in rivets from my bedroom walls, when I first met Thalia and Luke, as I watched Percy crumpling under the atmosphere's great weight… my heart gave a sympathetic clench as my mind dredged up old memories.

Before I could start to think far too hard, a black shadow was cast onto the suburban street. Percy reined Blackjack with a firm pull on his mane, the ebony wings banking as they landed on the street.

The Pegasus gave an indignant neigh, which I had come to assume was some sort of comment only Percy could be entertained by. He indeed was, for my boyfriend gave his steed a smile and pat before disembarking.

He landed with converse solidly on the ground, a display of grace rare outside of the battlefield. He gave her his shit-eating grin, something that was a permanent fixture both on and off the battlefield.

I smiled in response, pushing myself off the grimy New York steps. I slung my backpack onto one shoulder and lazily strolled to him.

Two old ladies walked passed, giving us both a disapproving once-over. I couldn't help but hear them chittering on the dangers of boys on motorcycles.

I laughed gleefully; embraced Percy and I humoured myself by giving him a kiss.

Percy helped me onto the back of the Pegasus, him jumping onto the part closer to Blackjack's mane. I wrapped my arms around Percy as wings unfolded around my ankles. The beast's enormous wingspan extended and gave a mighty flap. By divine magic, we shot up over the New York City suburbs.

It was the first time I had ridden Blackjack with no dire combat to engage in. Percy and I have a dual cry of joy as Blackjack swooped through the stratosphere. The sound of joy was accompanied by neighs from Blackjack.

We spent a few minutes in the sky, but away from the Earth's weighing gravity, the seconds seemed like an extended dream. It was interrupted by a rather insistent whinny from the steed and an exasperated sigh from Percy. He explained that Blackjack was threatening to tip us into the not-so-nice side of town if we didn't get to a doughnut shop ASAP.

I said that I didn't mind; I needed to get home soon anyway. We dipped under the cloud cover and further through the smog blanket. Blackjack flew much faster than he usually did; seems like doughnuts were more motivating than the times where our lives were in danger.

We landed in the parking lot of a Dunkin' Donuts. Percy and I dismounted, him braving the starving crowds of sugar-starved Americans and I leaning against Blackjack's flank.

I amused myself in running my fingers over the Pegasus's pelt. I could feel every individual muscles twitching underneath the charcoal skin. It was so different to stroking a smaller animal with long soft hair. They felt soft and preciously delicate. A stallion however – its hair was short enough that you would feel the life and power pulsing through its historically powerful shoulders.

I was unrooted from my reverie by the vibrating in my pocket. I immediately started rifling through my pockets. I had thought my phone had died a while ago but it had clearly mustered the strength to receive one more call.

I clicked the green phone button and lifted the Blockia to my ear.

"ANNABETH IS THAT YOU?!" a male voice screamed into the other end of the receiver.

I rolled my eyes. "Of course it's me, Magnus. It's my phone number, isn't it?"

"Well… yeah, well… uh…"

"What is it, Magnus?"

"Oh yes, what do you think would happen if Zeus and Thor got into a battle –"

"Oh not this again! If you call me again about this nonsense, I will personally drag you into Hades – well, Valhalla," I berated him.

"Actually, the Norse version of hell is called Helheim, if you must know…" Magnus seemed eager to call me out on my lack of research. I was about to defend myself that, in my culture, Hades was the general term for all the heaven and hells in the universe. That the Scandinavian people were terribly disorganised by spreading their afterlife locales all over a _plant._

But before I could start the much-needed debate on the issue, my phone gave out. The call ended and I cursed human technology for its weakness. No doubt Magnus would take this as a default win on his side of the scoreboard.

I stashed the phone back into my back pocket. What a useless waste of my time.

* * *

 **Yeah, this was pretty much a filler.**

 **Not a very good one at that.**

 **But it was nearly 3000 words – three times the usual size.**

 **But if you want to see who would win in the Zeus vs Thor fight, there's this amazing YouTube video by ERB. Just it up** **– it's pretty awesome.** **  
**

 **Jamie Edge**


	9. Divided

**PLEASE READ THE A/N AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER! IT'S VERY IMPORTANT!**

 **(also, just as a side note: I don't live in New York so if I make any mistakes with the locations, I apologise)**

 **CHAPTER 9: Divided**

* * *

I pressed against the door, feeling the life-threatening clench around my throat. The colours and smells were so intense, it felt like they were packing into my brain, the pressure building higher and higher and higher...

Until my head exploded.

(Or at least that's what it felt like.)

I spluttered and coughed, clumsily navigating my way through the unclear world of my bedroom. My hysterical mind was half convinced it needed to get to the window and the other half was convinced that Annabeth was banging on the door. My survival instincts helped me pull my desk chair away from my computer and shove it under the door handle.

I stumbled, completely exhausted from the effort of having put up a mental defence mechanism. I lunged across my room, my hand hitting the window almost hard enough to shatter it. I fumbled with the latch, years of practice guiding me through the unhooking of the brass bar. When the window opened, I gulped waves of New York-tainted fresh air.

The blanket of fog was abruptly lifted from my head and glorious clarity was restored. The colours started to form shapes. I breathed in deeply through my nose, refreshed and grateful.

Sanity restored, I calmly swung myself out and stole to a remote rooftop. I removed the upper layer of clothing, leaving only the tight spandex of my Spidey uniform. (Yeah, "spandex" and "uniform" really shouldn't be in the same sentence.)

I stuffed the bag of my mundane clothing into my favourite nook (in an air vent). After finishing the suiting up ritual, I got to a running start position at some end of the roof.

I closed my eyes, pushing the thoughts of the weird smell-dimension out of my head. I opened my eyes with a brain empty of distracting thoughts and honed into a single-minded focus.

I sprinted across the grimy concrete, the wind slicing through the thin fabric of my suit and cooling my skin.

I reached the edge of the platform and launched myself into the air. A small flock of pigeons resting on the ledge below me crooned in alarm, and simultaneously we all went flying through the air.

I allowed myself to free fall for a few moments longer than I usually do, only buoying myself up at the last given opportunity. The bio webbing shot out of the device strapped to my wrist, swinging me up in time to avoid slamming into a bus. (I can't be hit twice in the same day.)

I took over the traffic and I severed the connection. My body arched up, and I landed perfectly onto a roof on the opposite side of the road.

Being in a suburban area, I didn't have the liberty of swinging between the skylines. I flittered over the rooftops, catching the eye of awed children on their way home from school.

I almost complete forgot about my past problems until I stopped numb trek across the urban plain. I sat on somebody's roof, my legs dangling off the edge.

I was already in Brooklyn, the East River only barely visible from my vantage point. The panic from the event that passed started to catch up with me, the clamminess of panic's hand closing around my throat.

My grip of the building's edge tightened. I remembered the wafts of yellow and reds and purples blanketing my dingy bathroom, spiralling together like dust. The smell of humans, cleaning products and the warm aroma of coffee bursting up my nose.

I groaned in distress, leaning forward and rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands.

I surely couldn't be going mad. I didn't feel particularly insane at right now. I went silently recited the 9 signs of mental disorder, doing some serious introspection on its applicability in my situation. I hadbeen feeling pretty paranoid since the beginning of the day, like someone was watching me. I had gotten into my head that someone I knew nothing about was out to get me. I suffered from insomnia, a change in appetite and behaviour.

You just went through the death of your uncle; it would make sense if your brain couldn't take any more –

 _Oh my God, Peter, you can't seriously be considering you are mental –_

That didn't sound like normal-person behaviour.

 _But you're not a normal person, dude. You're freaking SPIDERMAN._

… What if I'm not actually Spiderman? What if I was knocked into a coma? What if –

 _No, no, no, no, no Peter. You're being ridiculous. Just CALM DOWN. You are not crazy, this is not a dream. YOU ARE SPIDERMAN AND YOU NEED TO GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER!_

I jerked by head out of my hands and, likewise, jerked myself back into the real world. I pushed off the ledge, plummeting off the edge. I soared above the streets, once again losing myself to the pure physicality of my flight mode of transport.

I was making distance, zooming faster than any of the underlings confined to shiny metal boxes on wheels. I rocketed down the riverside, already clinging to the towers of the infamous Manhattan Bridge.

It wasn't the most fun to swing over – that would go to the Queensboro bridge – but the Manhattan had a novelty to it that I really enjoyed. It reminded me of _King Kong;_ a movie my family watched all the time before my mom and dad died. You would think this would make me sad, but it always filled me with a sense of patriotism and responsibility of a protected city. The weight of stress that had been dragging me down lightened.

Until I heard it.

The sound of static pierced my reverie, making me lose my footing. My fingers slipped off the vividly red paint of the building, surrendering me to the wind.

I had dared to drop myself from the riskiest of places, to imitate the feeling of a diver attached to a bungee cord. But this time was different because I had no specific trestle in mind to attach to. I floundered in mid-air, twisting and trying to make the world to stop spinning.

I screamed, my power and voice snatched by the cruelly of the cyclone gusting around me.

Suddenly the sensation of falling halted, the inertia making all my internal organs wrench away from my body. I felt my arms coil around something desperately, something I was not familiar with.

I clutched my eyes shut, fearing that if I were to open my eyes I would see the glory of heaven. I rearranged my shaken up innards and roused the courage to see what had become of my fate.

It seemed that while my heart had forgotten how to function in my chest, muscle memory had luckily kicked in. I was hanging on a single string of bio wire, dangling only 4 metres shy of the greedy East River.

My presumed last breath deflated from my lungs. I slowly started inch my way up, my bio wire reeling in.

I prayed to God that the strange static noise would not reoccur. Not at least until I got somewhere at least decently secure.

Whoever received my plea seemed to respond to reverse psychology because the noise plunged itself back into my ear. I slid down the line only a little bit, gritting my teeth against the pain.

I scaled up much faster now and arrived to safely like a beached whale. I clung to a ledge on the underside of the bridge, determined not to fall again. At least here there was more space to freak out.

The sound buried itself deeper into my skull, emitting an unwanted moan from my lips. I curled my arms around my knees, burying myself into myself.

The static started to become a living thing, dominating my thought process. I tried to fight it off but it seemed to seep into me, become more resolved in its intentions.

I began hearing something underneath the noise, unidentifiable. I started to calm down, soothed by the focus of investigation.

I focused on the sound, fine-tuning the static to become… hooting. The static had abruptly cut off, leaving me to auscultate to the eerie call of an owl.

I descended into an odd stupor, hypnotised by the noise. It had buried its hook into my brain, tugging and pulling me. I slowly unwrapped myself from the cowardly ball I had protected myself in.

I stood, and quicker that I thought I could, I oscillated up the height of the bridge's cables. I barely paid attention to the burning in my arms or the lunacy of my actions.

I speared into downtown Manhattan, the sound becoming louder and louder as I got closer and closer and closer… to what?

I screeched to stop, baulking only two metres from skipping another alley. I glanced up at the sky, my ears perking up to find that animal once more.

There was nothing.

For a reason I could not understand, desperation and rage surged up in my heart. I gave out a raw scream of frustration, fingers ripping at my hair. I had this clawing need to _find_ something, something that would change everything for the better, something that would provide an explanation for what was happening to me.

Like it did in the bathroom, the smell crept up and hit me when I didn't expect it. It had burned the cells lining my nasal cavity and seared drown my trachea.

I stumbled back, covering my mouth with my rope-burned hands. I choked on the smell, hated it as it overtook my body. I struggled against it, knowing now that this was a figment of my arachnid nature, _not me, not Peter Parker, not me_

I collapsed onto the shit-bleached concrete of the skyscraper.

When I rose, there was no more internal battle or fear of self-exploration. I welcomed the aroma of my surroundings, filtering through it. I identified the trail of my prey – yes, the smell of books, ocean air and stables.

I tilted my lifeless eyes to the sky and inspected with dark satisfaction the streak of ultraviolet blazing across the clouds.

* * *

 **Okay, this is the critical part of the story; the epic battle between superhuman and demigod.**

 **There are two possible routes that this story can journey along. I want you to vote on who you want to win. Keep in mind that each option has its own plot, one that is more angst/morbid than the other. Although that may change; I only have a rough plot right now. But from the basic plot I have now:**

 **ANNABETH [darker]**

 **PETER**

 **WHO DO YOU WANT TO WIN?**

 **I have a poll on my profile. So PLEASE go check that out and vote. The next chapter will be up soon so you better get voting!  
**


	10. Fight

**Yo...**

 **Hey...**

 **Long time no see? hehe... yeah**

 **I KNOW I KNOW I'M A PIECE OF SHIT**

 **As always, my excuse is school work. In my final year of high school and shiz be getting secure ma future. The future that does not include me living on the streets.**

 **CHAPTER 10: Fight**

 **Annabeth POV**

* * *

I continued to run my hand along Blackjack's fine pelt, trying to stifle my thoughts. Brain matter churned out theories as proficiently as a well-oiled machine, feeding the burning curiosity inside me.

I still had a nagging feeling that Peter wasn't some mortal degenerate. But I had all the evidence that he wasn't a demigod or a monster. But there was that vague feeling of déjà vu plagued me. It reminded me of every bad thing that I had ever had experienced; that uncomfortable feeling that one of those very pleasant memories was going to re-occur. But the thing was that I did not know exactly what would happen. Damn frustrating.

This made me all the more fearful. There were a million possible outcomes, all of which worse than their predecessor.

I renewed my efforts to stop worrying by burying my fingers into Blackjack's mane. It was thick, unruly and so black it had blue reflections. And for these attributes, it reminded me of Percy.

I sighed and looked up. I couldn't see Percy but I assumed he was still standing in the enormously long queue. I decided that it would be best – for both my sanity and his ADHD-fuelled impatience – for us to wait together.

I gave Blackjack an affectionate smack to the rump and started the short migration to the Dunkin' Donuts. While I was intending to have a slow leisurely walk across the car park, Blackjack clearly did not. As if my signal was that of a gunman, the Pegasus burst into the fast food joint.

Blackjack was trotting excitedly all over the shop, much to Percy's complete panic and embarrassment. Fellow paying customers didn't seem too bothered by it though. They probably thought it was a snickerdoodle or whatever – I could see a group of girls giggling and giving Percy the eye. Girls had a new stupid thing for overly sensitive guys these days, I mean that's progress and all, but –

Something cold and metallic smacked against the nape of my neck, sending me sprawling onto the ground. I barely managed to cushion my fall, getting gravel embedded in my palms.

I've become so used to be attacked; I generally had a quick response to most unexpected situations. However, whoever had attacked me did so quickly and effectively, that I had no time to adjust, let alone fight back.

I was wrenched into the air, my centre of gravity jangled into chaos. I swung and twisted mid-air, knowing instinctively that I was being carried by my jacket by the tightness around my chest. I tried to scream for Percy's help but the fabric of my clothing was getting in the way of my mouth.

I couldn't see anything; the wind burnt my face with ice fire. I flailed and tried to dislodge myself from my kidnapper's grip. I attempted to slip out of my jacket, but the collar was wrapped so tightly around my throat so my head couldn't move.

Abruptly, my attacker deemed it unnecessary to carry me any longer and I was sent sailing through the air. I saw the floor approaching fast through blurred vision and managed a clumsy tuck-n-roll that left most of my body bruised but relatively unhurt.

I dizzily got my feet and my world slowly realigned itself into only one image.

I was on a rooftop. And in front of me, crouching in red spandex, was Spiderman.

I had heard of him. Who hadn't? There were some little kids in the Athena cabin who spoke his name with fear, kids who had seen him in action. They also talked about his deadly accuracy, the giant spider design across his chest and the glassy eyes that covered the sides of his head.

I would like to tell my little siblings that they were over-reacting and that he wasn't that scary. That their big sis had faced him down fearlessly but...

I'd be lying.

He represented spiders, the subject matter of all Athena children's nightmares.

Especially mine. The cold black beads of Arachne's eyes, her black skin so stretched and paper thin I would see her bones. The agony of a broken ankle shooting up my leg as I stumbled away in fear, never fast enough to escape.

His eyes reflected my image, the version of me balled up in a dark bedroom trembling and crying as spiders tried to get into my eyes and throat. It took me back to that old fear of being small and defenceless.

I trembled under my winter clothing, my fingers fumbling to find my short sword.

He did not move as I did this, as lifeless and terrifying as a wax statue.

I kept my eyes on his face as I slowly unzipped my jacket, exposing my skin to attack by both nature and him. It was a composition of composure and the ritual of a challenge accepted.

I held the heavy fabric at an arm's length and in slow motion...

… it hit the ground.

Spiderman launched himself forward, his speed so in odds with his previous stillness, I could only take the hit. He pushed me back, his palms driving my shoulders into the concrete. I used his momentum against him by doing a back roll, making him land back-first on the floor behind me. I twisted until I was straddling his chest.

I wound up a fist and sent it flying towards his eyes. He moved his head away so my knuckles hit the concrete. He used my fleeting pain to send me flying off his chest and into an air conditioning unit.

I crumpled onto the floor, trying not to think that if he had thrown me a little harder, the metal would have dealt a paralysing blow to my spine. I knew now not to underestimate his strength. I may be equipped with more strength than the average human, but I was nothing compared to a superhero.

I got up as soon as I could, but reaction time was just another thing that Spiderman was more fruitfully blessed. He launched himself forward, pushing me up against the air-con unit. He pulled up his fist and let it swing into my face.

I immediately felt my nose breaking for the hundredth time in my life. I gave no sound of pain or distress, rather dealing him a powerful head-butt that sent him stumbling.

Pushing my advantage, I lifted my foot and almost kicked him in the family jewels but decided that was too low a blow this early in the fight. Instead, I drove my foot into his gut. Despite not being that strong, he was sent flying across the roof. He must just be super light, his anatomy made sense for flight and constantly airborne. I wondered if that meant he had hollow bones; easier to break. That would mean we both had the strength to throw each other all over the place.

I thought all of this as I marched forward, slashing my short sword back and forth. He dodged underneath each thrust, backing closer and closer to the roof's edge.

He quickly got bored by the rhythm of my offensive strategy. He made a grab for my arm before I could backhand him in the skull. As a result, he got closer to me and I took the opportunity to hook my foot behind his right leg. I grabbed his suit – which is difficult to get a handle of by the way – and judo flipped him. I managed to get my blade into his arm on his way down.

He had little space to get up again but he smashed his heel into the back of my knee and my legs became weak. I folded, my body completely losing the strength to control my fall.

He piled on top of me, his crotch on my stomach. He pressed his hands against my windpipe.

"You," he growled threatening.

I let go of my weapon to attend to his attack. I tried to pry his fingers from my throat enough to reply: "Yeah it's me. Who were you expecting?"

I laughed but he tightened his grip, turning sarcastic merriment into genuine coughing.

"You think you're all that, that I haven't noticed all the 'coincidences'," he said, his mouth barely moving the fabric pulled over his lips.

I was starting to really feel the effects of being suffocated and now my priorities were not focused on sharing my confusion or on a Percy-like comeback. I decide to get out of this position rather than carry on the chit-chat.

I implemented the Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu technique of grabbing one of his arms and forcing it closer to his body. I squeezed the pressure point behind his triceps and thrust my hips upward, causing him to become off balance. His other hand let go to prevent himself from falling forward.

I twisted below him and then he was on the floor, with me on top.

I punched him in the face, and bones broke with a crunch so clean, it sounded like celery. He grunted and I used the brief moment to grab my drakon weapon.

But he recovered quickly enough to displace me from my advantageous position.

He jumped away from me, having finally realised that close combat was not his best bet when it came to duelling me. This did not bode well since I had no longer-range weapons on me and he was practically the master of long distance if the videos I had seen were not CGI.

I adjusted my grip and felt reassured that I at least had my extra dagger in my pocket. Something that would only come in handy if I tricked him into coming close to me. He was probably too fast for me to play darts with.

He jerked his hand forward and his infamous webbing came out, barely missing my foot. I dived behind the air-con unit. I pressed my back against the cold metal and let my senses detect every nuance of my environment.

He, rather predictively, somersaulted over the block and landed in front of me. I charged and managed to draw blood from his abdomen. I didn't stop for anything, fighting and slashing like a demon. He was clearly not used to this kind of fighting and it was very different than my approach from earlier. Now it was senseless and incessant, paired with 10 years' experience of fighting for survival.

He started to weaken slowly, or seem to anyway. Because he suddenly changed his tactic and attacked. He squirted my non-fighting arm with the webbing, making it stick to my hip. I relied on that appendage heavily for balance and momentum and I was felled by its loss.

He stepped on my hand before I would get up. I cried out at the feeling of my blade being ground against my bones. I was forced to let go. He let off and I cradled my hand close to my chest. It was definitely broken.

He grabbed the sword and flung it off the roof. I screamed, my chest rising and falling in panicked pants. Not only for me being a weapon short but at the prospect of losing another gift. I wouldn't be able to deal with the loss of the only testament to my time in Tartarus. (And, more covertly, worried that the sword may land in someone's cranium. Hopefully, there were no demigods down there.)

He continued his deluded interrogation.

"WHO SENT YOU?!" he roared and punctuated his sentence with a kick to my stomach. All the air left my lungs in a hacking cough.

I felt the tears streaming down my eyes. I replied in authentic pain and confusion: "I don't know what you're talking about."

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" he ordered in a madman scream. I was starting to think he was either insane, had me confused with someone else or there were larger forces at work.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," I repeated. I channelled as much weakness into my voice as I could, hoping he wouldn't kick me again. I needed him distracted as I wormed my still functioning hand into my pocket, where my extra dagger lay. It wasn't the dagger Luke gave me; rather it was an extra weapon in case I lost my other one. Tartarus had taught me the hard way why this habit was so important.

"WHY ARE YOU HERE?" he seemed convinced that I was trying to fool him.

"You must have me confused with someone else. I'm Annabeth Chase; I'm no assassin," I insisted. Ah ha! Got it! The shape of the pommel wasn't as familiar as I would want it to be, but it'll do.

"Who said anything about an assassin?" Spiderman pointed out, sounding a little smug that I had inadvertently 'revealed' myself. I cursed myself and him.

"Ever heard of movies? It wasn't difficult to guess. This is pretty much the most clichéd – _umf_ ," I was once again kicked, this time hard enough for me to roll away from him.

I tried to increase the speed of my roll so he could not see the bronze in my hand. He thankfully did not, for he was glaring at my face. Serves me right for back chatting baddies. Generally didn't work out as well for me as it did for Percy.

I wiggled my arm, sawing into my bindings. I made my entire body move to seem like I was trying to get away from him, cowering in fear. I added in a whimper for effect.

"Where are your little team now, huh? Percy and Grover, that's their names, right?" Spiderman questioned, now stalking slowly towards me.

I tried my best to get away from him, cutting the webbing away, making it look like I was still helpless and trying to prevent further damage to my broken hand.

But I was reeling from his mention of Percy and Grover. It had been ages since we had been mentioned as a team because we had all gone our separate ways after the First War. Sure, we were still close with Grover and kept in touch with him, but we were not as close as we were in our younger years. Grover had his Lord of the Wild duties that kept him pretty busy.

So I decided that Spiderman definitely did not have me confused with some other Annabeth Chase. It seemed the Fates had threaded me into the tangle of prophetic wool.

"What they have to do with this?" I asked and I immediately regretted the appropriateness of my answer. While I actually wanted to know what was going on, I had revealed that I indeed knew Percy and Grover. I wondered if I had worsened the outcome of this fight by doing that.

He stared at me blankly, but then again, his expression always appeared passive. "Your group of assassins. Don't pretend you don't know what I mean or I'll throw you off the roof," he made his ludicrous ultimatum.

"So... Wait, you think Grover, Percy and I are assassins? Are you for real?" I couldn't believe it. I knew it was unwise but I burst out laughing. Loud.

Spiderman clearly did not appreciate the joke and decided it was a prime time he threw me off the roof.

He stuck his webbing to my shoulders and swung me around. I spun in wide elevated circles, my world becoming blurry. I could feel the wind tugging at my hair and I tried desperately to protect my right hand. The contents of my stomach sloshed nauseatingly, almost bypassing up to my mouth.

He spun me for the last time and let me fly. I rocketed toward the side of the neighbouring building. I screamed as I finally released my hand and, just in time, I drove my dagger into the mortar as my body slammed painfully into the bricks.

My dagger, buried in the wall like a nail, acted as a hand hold. I breathed slowly, my body recovering from the vibrating stock while marvelling at my luck. I knew celestial bronze had the ability to slice anything except for living things outside of the magical realm. But the fact I had managed to get it out of my pocket and buried in-between the bricks at 30 km an hour was a miracle. I'd be sure to dedicate my meal to the god of spectacular luck.

I glanced below me. I was about three stories up and I could not afford to break my legs as well. I turned my head and quickly examined my options before Spiderman realised I had not fallen to my doom. My head was still dizzy and I had to will myself into focusing.

I checked out my surroundings. There was ample amount of space to run; the windows were open, the windows had ledges and on top of that, there were fire escapes everywhere. Oh, I am _so_ sacrificing an entire banquet to the gods.

I let go of my blade and landed solidly on the ledge below me. Just as I was about to wrench it out of the wall, I heard the sounds of footfalls. I knew instinctively that he was taking a running start so to jump off the roof.

 _Oh to Hades with it_. I jumped over the bannister of the fire escape, my boots hitting the metal grate with a resonant BANG. Spiderman landed just where I was a second ago.

I ran as quickly as I could up the stairs, knowing that while being on a roof had the risk of him throwing me off it, I also knew Spiderman would not have much to jump off or swing on. The open space was my best bet; if I continued to be blessed, Percy would be able to see me if he was in the air, riding Blackjack.

I was already up a floor when Spiderman sprung himself to the other side of the alley, on the roof of the building.

He took aim and his webbing latched to my hip. I was yanked until my side connected to the hand railing. I cried out and used all my muscles to stay in place. Spiderman had his feet planted and was leaning back, trying to topple me in a game of tug-of-war.

After realising I would never better Spiderman in sheer strength, I made up for it in weight.

I slipped under the hand rail, creating a pulley system, with the ropey webbing looping over the bannister. And I was the heavier of the two people on either side of the string.

Caught by surprise by my choice to voluntarily fall, he had loosened his posture and because he was surrounded by nothing he could grab onto, he stumbled down towards my side of the building.

I sunk like a rock while Spiderman flew like a bird, head first into the metal stairs. I abruptly stopped, sending me bouncing and swinging crazily. I was hanging from his webbing, only a metre shy of the ground.

I oscillated until I could get my teeth on the string and started to work at it. It tasted revolting, sort of like a plastic bag.

Once I had gnawed it through, I dropped lightly into a puddle of water. I searched above me; I saw no sign of Spiderman.

The cold was starting to nip at my thinly clad body, my breath coming out in puffs.

I walked down the alley, my head still tilted. Oh, Zeus, I could see his red form sprawled unconscious on the floor. My stupid plan had worked better than I thought it would.

Well, now what?

* * *

 **So I have combined the votes on my version of this story and the votes on … here are the results:**

 **ANNABETH = 40**

 **PETER = 39**

 **(some people voted for collaboration and on Percy, even though neither of those things was a part of the options)**

 **BOTH: 6**

 **PERCY: 3**

 **So good/bad? Do you regret your vote? Tell me what you think.**


	11. Now What?

**I'm updating on a Wednesday. I don't even care anymore about my bs "updating schedule".**

 **So I'll update on… what was my update day again? I can't flippen remember. Oh well, I'll update every weekend. Or I'll try anyway (again, last year of high school)**

 **Anywho…**

 **I've had a lot of people commenting/sending me messages discussing the person who won in the last chapter. Stuff about how Annabeth would have beat him easy, or how Spiderman is much stronger than her…**

 **Just to address all that I would like to say: I conducted a vote on this so not to anger anyone who feels that their character is "better". The victor was chosen democratically. I also made the fight as dynamic as I could so both fighters' talents were shown and there was no clear "superior".**

 **The only thing I agree is ridiculous about that chapter is Annabeth biting through the webbing, as a reader has pointed out. I'm considering re-writing that part or do you guys think its fine? Comment on what you think.**

I couldn't get up there; the ladder was rolled up and my access to the fire escape was restricted. I looked around. There was an old battered abandoned couch and dust bin close by, maybe I could use that to reach it. But first…

I looked down and inspected the damage. My hand was severely swollen, looking a little like a beaten-up caricature cartoon character if I had to be honest. The only thing that was not at all cartoonish about it was the bone sticking out of pinkie finger. I grimaced; I had to do it. Ambrosia won't work until you've set it straight.

I gingerly touched the finger, and with my eyes closed and my shirt collar in my mouth, I quickly corrected it. What initially was a scream turned into a rhythmed, muted shrieked cover of _Teenagers_ by My Chemical Romance. I continued to hum as I did the same thing with my nose.

 _Thank the gods it's over,_ I thought. I checked my pockets for ambrosia; no such luck. It was in my jacket, the one I had dropped onto the other roof.

After about 10 minutes, I was scaling up the ladder (extraordinarily painful if your finger is still broken) and I was climbing the stairs with heaving breaths. My sword was strapped to my thigh after I found it in a dumpster. I wasn't sure if it had landed there or if someone had mistaken it for a broken umbrella and thrown it away.

I managed to get my dagger back, narrowly avoiding falling. Wouldn't be much good saving the world twice then dying by slipping off a ledge.

I reached the level that he was lying limp. I wasn't sure if he was truly unconscious or merely faking it. I crouched down to peer at his wrists, noticing how the white, silken ropes came out of his wrists. I pulled up his sleeves and was met by something unexpected: it was a device. It was artificial webbing!

I don't know why I was so surprised: he was a mortal superhero, not an _actual_ spider. He probably got this gadget to go strong on his Arachne theme.

I stripped him of the weapon, tucking them into my pockets. I then used my dagger to cut the webbing into one long strip, which I repurposed to bind his wrists and ankles together.

I lifted him up – by Poseidon's left butt cheek, he was light. I carried him up to the roof, hid him under the water tower above the apartment block and waited.

 **SOMETIME LATER**

I was so cold; the ice wormed itself into my skin, chilling my blood to the point that my bones felt brittle. I turned my head slowly, looking forlornly at my clothing on the other roof. I had already checked if there were a way in. Unfortunately, it was a new building and was not obligated to add in fire escapes. And there was no way I could ask any of the tenants of the building if I could fetch it. It would raise too many questions like: " _What were you doing on my roof?" and "Why are you carrying an unconscious spider guy with you?"_

I squinted up at the sky, my muscles trembling on my bones. No, I must be going crazy. That was a helicopter again right?

I stood up, quickly checked if Spiderman was still out cold and his binds were still in place. I walked up to the edge of the roof and squinted some more. _Do I need glasses or something? I swear I'm going blind,_ I thought.

No, no – that was definitely a winged horse.

I screeched, bursting into action. I jumped up and down, waving my arms and yelling "PERCY! BLACKJACK!"

They stopped cruising along the sky, now diving down at a much faster speed. Blackjack's hooves gracefully clopped onto the dirty floor and not even a second after, Percy's converse slapped down in a less-than-graceful movement.

He barrelled forward, taking me into his arms. His cheek was burning hot against my cheek. I wasn't sure whether that was because blood was rushing to his face or because my cheek was cold.

It was clearly because I was freezing because as soon as he touched me, he recoiled.

"Holy Hera, you're flippen' cold!" he exclaimed before pulling me in again.

My teeth were chattering too much to talk so I just pointed to the opposite building.

He didn't seem to understand what I was pointing at but after a minute of me trying to get him to notice it, he did. "Oooohhh, your jacket! Wait, your jacket. What's it doing over there?"

I rolled my eyes. I still didn't have enough muscular control to talk without my chattering teeth taking my tongue off. I pointed at Blackjack then at Percy then at the jacket.

Percy had this stupid slow look of realisation and didn't bother with the ever annoying phrase: "Then why didn't you just _say_ that?"

He fetched my jacket for me – which had frozen into its heaped form. Percy snapped it and bent it until I could at least put it on. He positioned me underneath the Pegasus' wing, where I was welcomed into glorious warmth.

While I warmed up and chewed on a square of ambrosia, Percy was telling me what happened after I disappeared. I wasn't really listening to what he was saying, mainly focusing on getting warm enough to figure what to do with the Spiderman situation.

"…I had just managed to get Blackjack out from behind the counter and stop raiding the displays. At the point, people no longer thought he was a poodle. I swear one of the old guys screamed it was a _diablo_. I literally had to drag him out by his –"

"Sp-spiderman ki-ki-kidnapped mm-me," I interrupted.

Percy had stopped his story time, staring at me with wide eyes. "Like, _Spiderman_ Spiderman? The leotard guy?"

"N-no, Seaweed Brain, the _other_ Spiderman. Of c-course it was sp-Spiderman!" I snapped, still miserably cold.

Percy had his hand in his pocket automatically, something he always did when he was cautious or shocked. I did a similar thing when I was threatened.

"Why would he kidnap you though? I thought he was a part of another magical sphere or something. Like, one for aliens and stuff," Percy asked in his extremely articulate manner.

"I'm not sure you can call them a separate magical sphere, although I don't know what else to call them," I replied. "But that aside, he seemed to think I was some kind of assassin sent out to kill him. I don't know why."

Percy stared at me blankly, his face clearly reflecting my present predicament: _What the hell Spiderman?_

"He's behind you by the way," I mentioned offhandedly and delighted in the way how he did an 180-degree pivot, Riptide already in his hand. I laughed loudly and I would feel Blackjack moving in an odd up and down manner that I assumed was horsy merriment.

Percy seemed to realise I had just pulled his leg. He capped his sword and slowing turned back. "So not cool, Annabeth," he pouted dejectedly. My smile got broader if that was possible.

"No, but seriously though. I tied him up and he's under that thing," I pointed at the water tower. Percy gave me a look and proceeded to venture into the area.

Almost immediately he had gone, he was back with the limp body in his arms.

"Wow, a real superhero," Percy grinned goofily. I grinned back in response; I couldn't believe Percy was fanboying over someone like this when he was my – and possibly the world's – biggest hero.

After a moment of silence, he looked up from gawking with mischief in his eyes. "Have you checked out his face?" he asked curiously.

I baulked. I had never thought to take off the mask; which just went to show how much a mask could dehumanise a person. I would know; I had seen the corrupting nature of facades from personal experience.

"… No," I replied honestly.

"Seriously? Aren't you curious?" Percy urged and at his words I was suddenly burning with the need to know.

I pushed Blackjack's wing away, feeling less at risk of hypothermia. "You hold him down; I don't know if he's actually asleep or not. He could be faking it. But I bonked him on the head for good measure a while back," I instructed and Percy compliantly anchored our captive to the ground.

I brought my hands to Spiderman's neck, slipping my fingers under the fabric. I slowly pulled it up, trepidation keeping my breath baited in my lungs.

I was by his lips now; it was cover in blood from the time I had punched it. His nose was in a similar state, although it had already healed. I was surprised; I had thought he was just a mortal with fancy tech.

I pulled it up to eyes and I finally realised why his lower face had itched my memory so.

It was gods-damned Peter Parker.

 **DEAL WITH THAT CLIFFIE BBIIICCCHHHH**

 _ **Jamie Edge**_


End file.
